Charlotte's Web
by Winnywriter
Summary: A tragedy at the hospital drives House and Cuddy together, but will one night turn into more? Huddy. M for adult concepts such as suicide and some nonexplicit sexual situations.
1. The Stand

**This is chapter one of my summer project. After everything that's been going on regarding the show and its actors, I figured we needed some good Huddy lovin'. :) I know there have been several similar stories floating around, so why not add my own to the mix? XD On that note, I want to give a shout out to partypantscuddy and Cherokee Jedi, whose stories, "Life Unexpected" and "Safety" (respectively) were part of my inspiration to write this. There may be some similarities to these or other stories along the way, but rest assured these are coincidences _only_. **

**This story is set in a sort of AU season five after Joy, but before Joy to the World. Ergo, no Lucas, no Rachel, no established Huddy relationship. Don't get me wrong, I _love_ Rachel, but this is just how things worked out. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White. This chapter deals with suicide and is not for the faint of heart. The views expressed in this story do not reflect my views on any religion or belief system and are not meant to offend anyone. **

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><p><em><strong>Charlotte's Web<strong>_

**The Stand**

The air smelled like rain and wet asphalt as Cuddy made her way slowly through the gathering crowd in the parking lot of the hospital. Some were murmuring, some were crying silently, others merely stared. Flashing red and blue lights reflected unfeelingly against glistening pavement and pale faces. It was a bustling center of morbid activity, but to Cuddy, it all seemed to move in slow motion. Her legs moved sluggishly, as if she were walking through waist-deep freezing water. As she approached the yellow police tape separating the onlookers from the scene of the tragedy, she could do nothing but stare.

Two officers stood over the twisted body; the younger one of them had removed his hat and was tiredly wiping his brow, and the other, who looked older and more experienced, looked on with a grim expression that said this was probably not the first time he'd seen something like this. A third officer, a woman with her red hair pulled into a tight and orderly ponytail, was speaking to a borderline-hysterical young nurse who had apparently witnessed the act.

The girl was young, lying face-down in a pool of her deep red blood, her brown hair splayed out over her head. Her limbs were twisted unnaturally, her hospital gown stained and torn over her mangled body. The sight of it made Cuddy's stomach churn; nothing in her medical training or years of practice could have prepared her for this. She looked away, swallowing her emotions as one of the officers, the woman who had just been speaking with the nurse, began to walk over to her.

"Are you Dr. Cuddy?" she asked, her cool, professional tone tinged with sadness and exhaustion. Cuddy found herself nodding. "I'm going to need to ask you a few questions…" She paused, seeing the emotion roiling behind Cuddy's eyes, and her tone softened. "Would you like to go somewhere more private?"

"I…yes…" The woman nodded understandingly and stepped under the police tape, leading Cuddy through the crowd into the front entrance of the hospital. They stood just inside the door, the officer's body partially blocking Cuddy's view of the scene, but she still saw them drape a white sheet over the body. Somehow, the finality of the act was more painful than having the body itself in view.

"I'm officer Hollerith," the officer said. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Cuddy said, her voice tense and tired.

"You're Dean of Medicine of this hospital, correct?"

"I am."

"Did you witness the act?"

"No."

"Did you know the victim?" Officer Hollerith looked through her notes discreetly. "Charlotte Mendel?" Cuddy took a breath.

"Yes…informally."

"She was a patient of yours?"

"I oversaw her treatment while she was here two months ago."

"Did she show any signs of depression then?"

"No…" She sighed. "Not that I noticed." Now that she looked back on the events of two months prior, she felt a heavy sense of guilt. Should she have noticed something? Was there something she could have done to prevent this? There must have been…she must have missed something. She must have overlooked some crucial factor, something that could have saved this girl had she seen it earlier. But now there was nothing that could be done about it now; this girl was dead, and there was no way to change it.

"What about when she checked in yesterday?" Cuddy rubbed her temples, straining her memory. Surely there must have been some sign that she could remember.

"I don't know…" she relented tiredly. "I didn't see anything. If I had, I…" She let her arms fall uselessly at her sides. Officer Hollerith wrote down one last quick note and then looked back up at her.

"I know this is difficult," she said. "Just few more questions." Cuddy nodded. "What's security like in the hospital?" The question took Cuddy by surprise, and she furrowed her eyebrows at it.

"We have an excellent staff of security guards, a state-of-the-art lockdown system, employee I.D. badges and extensive background checks-"

"Maybe I should clarify," Hollerith interrupted. "The windows in the patient rooms don't open, and none were broken, so the victim must have jumped from the roof. How easy would it be for a patient without any security clearance to have access to that restricted area?"

"There's only one door to the roof in this building," Cuddy sighed, pursing her lips and brushing her hair from her face. "It _should _have been locked."

"But it wasn't?"

"Obviously…" Hollerith nodded, scribbling something down again on her notepad. "Most of the doors lock automatically, but when we changed out the older locks all throughout the hospital three years ago, the roof access door was one of the few that wasn't serviced. It has to be locked manually…"

"So someone must have left it open."

"Yes…" Hollerith nodded again, her lips pursed. Cuddy expected more questions, but apparently she'd given all that was needed of her.

"Alright. That's all. Thank you for cooperating, Dr. Cuddy." As exhausted and emotionally drained as she was, Cuddy could only nod solemnly as Officer Hollerith headed back out the door. Cuddy leaned back against the doorframe, covering her eyes with her hand. She looked out the door again; they were placing the body on a gurney, still covered. A bloody hand slipped out from under the sheet, hanging off the edge of the gurney. It was quickly covered again by one of the EMT's, but Cuddy had to look away. She hurried to the elevators and jammed the button repeatedly, scrambling inside when the doors opened and watching them close before her. Finally alone, she let herself collapse against he back wall with a heavy sigh, her eyes burning.

* * *

><p>She only let her tears flow freely when she'd shut herself in her car in the parking garage. From there she couldn't see the flashing red and blue lights, and she was cut off from the crowds and the charged emotions. Still, she felt cold and slightly nauseous, remembering her twisted body, her bloody, matted hair, the heavy finality of her covered body being wrapped up and carried away, horrified bystanders watching helplessly. She choked back a sob; it had been such a short time ago that she'd spoken to the girl. More than anything, she recalled her eyes: deep brown, holding back years of pain and secrets that seemed so much more obvious in Cuddy's memory than they had in life. Why, oh why couldn't she have seen it when it had mattered?<p>

A tap on her window caused her to start, and she looked over, trying to dry her tears, thinking it was another officer come to ask her more follow-up questions. But instead of green eyes and a tight ponytail, she saw deep blue irises, messy thinning hair and a gruff, stubble-covered face. Sniffing and wiping her cheeks half-heartedly, she leaned over and unlocked the door; he got in beside her and closed the door behind him.

"You see her jump?" he asked. Forward of him, she thought. But then again, how else could she expect him to act? He wasn't one to sugar-coat things just to make people feel better. She shook her head, then something dawned on her.

"Did you?" He mimicked her actions, shaking his head as well.

"The body was already covered when I showed up." He paused, giving a half shrug. "Sad."

"Yeah…" A moment passed of absolute silence. The quiet was stifling in and of itself, and Cuddy shifted uncomfortably.

"Did you know her?" Cuddy surprised herself then, a tragically heavy laugh escaping her throat, and she played with the crumpled napkin in her hands.

"She was in and out of the hospital…three times in the past six months."

"Slashed wrists?"

"Stomach pains…nausea…fatigue. Nothing that seemed all that out of the ordinary."

"Poison?"

"We never found the cause…" Cuddy sighed. It seemed so obvious to her now. Why hadn't she pried deeper? Why hadn't she asked more questions? Three times…those weren't suicide attempts; they were cries for help. And Cuddy hadn't seen it until it was too late…nobody had.

"Why are you here?" she asked, her tone coming across as harsh even though she hadn't intended it to. She was merely curious, but her emotions made her voice sound terse and unaccommodating. House only shrugged.

"Is it really so hard to believe I care about your emotional well-being?"

"Yes."

"Fine…I wanted to see if I could use your mental turmoil to get out of clinic duty this week." The smallest hint of a smile tugged at her lips, but it was quickly snuffed out as her eyes darkened again. They sat in silence for several moments, and House sighed. "If you've got nothing else to say, I guess I'll just leave you to wallow…" He was just reaching for the door handle when Cuddy spoke once again.

"Her father is a born-again Christian preacher…" she said heavily, and House sat back in his seat.

"He try to banish the devil from her innocent body?" he asked. Cuddy shook her head.

"No…but he never left her side. Not in a tender, loving, 'I'm-worried-about-you' way, though…It was almost like he was…guarding her. Like he expected her to do something horrible the moment he left."

"Was she abused?" Another shake of Cuddy's head.

"Not that we could tell. No bruises, no scrapes. Not even innocent ones. Like she'd never even been out of the house…" Her voice was tinged with an unmistakable hint of disbelief. "Her dad…He was always getting in the way of our treatment. Always insisting that there was no reason for her to be there. That God would take care of her if we would just stop interfering…" She scoffed distastefully, like the words and the memories tied to them left a bad taste in her mouth. "He kept insisting she be discharged the minute her symptoms subsided, even though we hadn't found the underlying cause."

"You didn't stop him?"

"I couldn't," she defended, her voice rising. "He was her primary caretaker, her guardian. She was seventeen." She let out a heavy sigh, looking down at the steering wheel. "Legally, there was nothing I _could_ do…"

"What about the mom?"

"She was more willing to see reason…" Cuddy relented. "But she couldn't stand up for herself. Whatever her husband said she just went along with…" House nodded slowly, solemnly.

"Well…that explains the suicide, then," he said. Cuddy quirked one eyebrow at him. "If my dad was a Bible-thumping idiot and my mom was a doormat, I'd probably kill myself too." Cuddy looked away, rubbing her temples.

"I could've helped her…I could have saved her if her father had actually given a damn about her physical well-being instead of just throwing it away in favor of her soul…" Her throat ached, and she angrily threw the shredded napkin in her hands at the dashboard.

"I saw him…in the crowd," she said, looking down heavily, her tears beginning to roll again. She didn't want to look up; she didn't want House to see her cry, even though she already knew he could. "He was praying, but he wasn't crying. Not even close. He didn't look sad or even hurt. He just looked…_disappointed_." Her fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white with anger and sadness. "After years of telling his own daughter that she was a hell-bound sinner…the bastard couldn't even bring himself to shed a single tear for her…" She covered her face with her hands, hiding herself from House's view, ashamed of the emotion roiling within her, but unable to obscure it. She slumped against the dashboard, just sobbing, unable to hold it back any longer. She was so _angry._ She felt helpless and weak, and she hated it. She hated this feeling of being unable to reign in her emotions.

When the fog of emotion began to fade, her awareness and control returning to her, she expected to turn and find House no longer there. She expected him to have left somewhere in the middle of her episode. But he was still sitting there, staring at her, his face unreadable.

"I'll drive you home," he said suddenly, and for a moment Cuddy thought for sure that she'd imagined it.

"What?" she asked, eyebrows furrowing. Surely, he couldn't be serious. He merely shrugged.

"You're obviously in no condition to be driving yourself. At this rate you'd probably be so busy sobbing and punching the dashboard that you'd crash into a mailbox or something…" Cuddy sighed irately.

"Don't make me sound like some emotional train wreck, House. I can take care of myself."

"Not tonight," he persisted, and he motioned for her to move. "Now come on. Switch seats with me."

"Why are you-"

"Why is it so hard to believe that I'm trying to do something halfway thoughtful?" House suddenly snapped, his voice rising, eyes sparking. Cuddy was taken aback by how frustrated he sounded. No, not just frustrated. He was not quite angry, but it seemed that a wave of emotions and exhaustion had just broken the surface after being valiantly held back and controlled as he tried to convince her to accept this favor from him. Acts of kindness were not his strong suit in any form. She sat in silence for what felt like quite a long time, just staring at him, and he ran a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh, appearing to regret his outburst. It was not, however, something that called for regret as far as Cuddy was concerned, because it had, in a way, gotten through to her, breaking down the wall of emotion that had been clouding her mind.

"Okay…" she relented. Maybe now was not the time to be arguing with him. Maybe it was not the time to be questioning his motives or to be picking this situation apart. Now she was just tired…beyond tired. She was exhausted; her arms felt heavy and weak. All she wanted was to go home and crawl into bed and forget all of this. Slowly, trying not to agitate him, she reached for the door handle and slipped out of the car, hearing him mirror her actions on the other side. He walked around the front of the car as she walked around the rear, and soon enough, the two of them were seated again, House now in the driver's seat.

"Keys," he demanded gruffly, holding out his hand, and she handed them to him without a word.

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><p>The ride was silent. It was beginning to rain again, and as House pulled to a stop at a red light, he looked over at Cuddy. She was staring out the window at the falling rain with a far-off look in her eye, and he returned his gaze to the front.<p>

"What did you see in her?" he asked, and he seemed to have broken her out of some kind of trance, because she looked up at him with a slight start.

"What?"

"You don't get attached to just any patient. Only the ones you identify with. So what was it? Crazy religious parent?"

"My mother isn't crazy religious. She's just…"

"Crazy," House finished. Cuddy did manage a small, wan smile at that, though it faded quickly. She returned to her staring out the window.

"Someone in your family a jumper?" She winced a bit at his audacity, but then of course, she supposed it wasn't something that should have surprised her.

"No…no…"

"Someone wanted to be?"

"_No_, House." She rested her head in her hand and sighed. She was getting a headache. A bad one, at that. House seemed to take the hint, and he fell silent. It struck her as odd; he was not normally so willing to conform to social courtesies like that.

So of course, he had to speak up again moments later.

"So why _did_ you get so attached to her anyway?"

"I wasn't attached to her, House. I saw her three times. I saw what she had to deal with. It was normal human compassion, not a deep emotional connection…"

"Right…so you go into a downward spiral like this every time a patient dies at the hospital-"

"She didn't just _die_, House!" she burst. "She threw herself off the roof!" She let the volume of her voice drop down to a near whisper. "It's not the same…" House took pause, not speaking again right away. He saw her holding back the tears that gathered in her eyes as she spoke. The glimpse of them lasted only a moment, and then it was gone, and she'd put on a desperately strong face once again.

They pulled into Cuddy's driveway a few minutes later, and Cuddy was quick to get out of the car after he had taken the keys out of the ignition and handed them to her, not caring about the rain as she unlocked the front door and scurried inside, leaving it open a crack so House could come in. She felt conflicted; she didn't want to be alone. Not really. But she didn't much want to spend time with House. Still, after he'd showed her some uncharacteristically thoughtful sympathy and driven her home, it didn't seem right to lock him out. So she waited in the foyer awkwardly as he shuffled inside and closed the door against the rain.

"I guess I'll…call a cab…" House mumbled after a moment's silence, fishing in his pocket for his cell phone.

"House," Cuddy called, and he stilled, looking up. Her voice was gentle, albeit tired, and her eyes were soft. "Thank you…" she murmured. House nodded curtly.

"Sure…you know I can't stand seeing my boss upset." His tone was sarcastic and joking, a defense against letting himself be too vulnerable. He looked back at his phone. "You have the number for a late-night cab service? I'll just-" He felt a hand on his arm, tentative, and he looked up.

"House…" she said. "Why don't you…just stay here." She offered a small, exhausted smile. "You can sleep on the couch." He stared at her in surprise, phone hovering a few inches from his ear.

"Cuddy…you finally giving into your feelings for me?" he taunted. Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"I'm just repaying a favor. You're being…" She sighed. "…surprisingly thoughtful, and I figure it's the least I can do…" She paused and looked up at him, realizing for the first time how close their bodies were. She could smell his earthy scent and feel his body heat radiating from him. How nice it would be, she thought to herself, to have that warmth closer, pressed against her body, comforting and soothing her. How nice it would be to not have to feel so alone, if just for one night. She shook her head discretely when she realized what she was thinking, and she pushed the thoughts from her mind, looking away from him.

"There's sheets and extra pillows in the hall closet," she said, trying on some level to distract herself, to make the atmosphere less charged.

"Thanks…" he mumbled, and he strode into the living room as she gathered the bedding. He was standing somewhat awkwardly next to the couch when she found him again, massaging his leg. Rain always made his leg hurt worse, she'd noticed. She felt a pang of sympathy for him, but let it pass as she handed him the fresh sheets.

"I was going to make some tea…do you want some?" she offered. He shook his head.

"Never liked tea…" She pursed her lips and headed back into the kitchen, opening the cabinet and taking out the box of tea bags. She reached up again and pulled down the first mug she found: the red one she'd had since med school. And suddenly, as she looked at it, feeling the smooth ceramic surface in her hands, her breath hitched. The deep burgundy color sent a thousand thoughts racing through her mind, and out of seemingly nowhere, she was staring at that girl's twisted body once again, staring at the red blood pooling around her head. In a flash, it was gone, and a loud crash snapped her out of her daze. The mug was broken on the kitchen floor, and tears were streaking down her face. She hadn't even felt them, hadn't noticed the mug slipping from her grasp. Her heart was pounding and her breathing was irregular, coming in awkward, hitching sobs.

"You okay?" She turned at the sound of his voice, gruff and tired, but tinged with worry. She nodded, trying to hide her tears, trying to wipe them from her face as she leaned down to pick up the broken shards littering the linoleum. He squatted next to her, pushing her hands out of the way as he brushed the largest pieces into a pile, picking up what he could. Cuddy straightened up, focusing on getting her breathing back into a regular pattern, and in moments, House was facing her again, looking down into her eyes.

"I'm fine," she insisted. But she could tell from his face that he wasn't buying one second of it. Memories flooded back to her again as she looked up at him, their gazes locked. But this time it wasn't of the girl on the asphalt. Instead, it was of a night that seemed so far away, even though in reality it couldn't have been more than a few weeks gone. When he'd come to her home, stared at her as tears had slipped soundlessly down her cheeks, when he'd pressed his lips to hers and wrapped his arms around her and given her just a few blissful moments of escape from her pain before reality had come crashing down on them again. And to her horror, she felt that same magnetism pulling them closer once more, his pain seeming to attract hers and vice versa. She was leaning toward him, her mind reeling, not knowing what she was doing, her body seeming to act of its own accord. And to her surprise, he wasn't pulling away.

She wanted to run, she wanted to get away from him, from this pull he had on her, but she also wanted more. She wanted to feel his lips, his skin on hers, to taste his breath and be closer to him, to let him comfort her. The minute their lips touched, feather-light, almost not a kiss at all, it was as if all the walls and uncertainties that she'd built up in her mind were obliterated in half a second. She suddenly realized that she'd closed her eyes at some point along the way, and she had no way of knowing what House was doing besides her sense of touch. Their lips came together once, twice, almost shy, never advancing past an almost nonexistent touch.

Without warning, her body lurched forward, and she threw her arms unabashedly around his neck. His hands were on her back, his arms encircling her, his tongue pushing past her teeth. She was all too eager to accept, her hands wandering through his air, his stubble grazing her lips and cheeks. For a few shining moments, she had him, all of him, and neither of them could think past that moment. They were lost in each other.

When she was finally separated from him, her heart was beating a mile a minute, her lungs were burning and her mind was spinning. She opened her eyes and looked at him, and she saw trepidation, surprise, panic, all things that, within moments, she knew were mirrored in her own eyes.

"I should…" He turned, heading for the door, and though she knew that the right thing to do, the smart thing to do, would be to let him go, to forget about the euphoria she'd just felt, she couldn't bring herself to do so, and she stepped forward, taking hold of his arm, making him turn to face her.

"Don't," she said. Her eyes stung and she didn't care. She was worn down to the bone. She'd taken all she could. She didn't want to be strong anymore, she didn't want to deny herself. She wanted, needed to let herself be comforted, even if it wasn't meant to last, even if it was just for one night.

"Cuddy-"

"I don't want to be alone tonight," she admitted, her voice cracking, soft. "I don't…I don't want to sleep alone…" If she'd taken a moment to analyze what she was saying with a clear head, she would have potentially seen how dangerous and how ridiculous the words sounded, but now she didn't care.

"I can't…" House sighed, sounding taken aback by how vulnerable she was, but how much of her wants and emotions she was letting him see. He was used to seeing her put on a brave face and deny herself the things she may have wanted. He was used to seeing her deal with difficult patients or even more difficult doctors without batting an eye. He was not at all accustomed to watching her break down like this, especially not to him.

"Please…" she said, and it was almost a whisper. She looked up at him, staring him down. "House, I know it sounds crazy and irresponsible and…_wrong._ But I just…I need this…"

He shook his head. "You'll regret it."

"I'm not looking for a commitment. I don't want a relationship. We don't even have to mention it ever again, but I need one night…that's all."

"We both know that's not possible…" he said. Cuddy pursed her lips, looking away from him, saying nothing more. She expected him to leave at any moment, to turn and get out of her house as fast as he could before things got even more out of hand than they already were. But to her surprise, he merely stood there in the foyer, staring at her as she tried and failed to get herself under control.

"Would you want me here in the morning?" he suddenly asked, and she looked up at him again, surprise and confusion written all over her face.

"What do you mean?"

"If I stayed…" He sighed heavily. "Would you want me to still be here in the morning?"

"I…don't know…" It was an honest answer. She hadn't thought that far. It was hard to think beyond tonight in the haze that clouded her mind and judgment.

"That's exactly why…I can't stay…" He looked down, and began to turn away before another thought came to him and he looked at her once more. "You would regret this," he repeated, his voice stern, but oddly gentle. "Maybe next week, maybe tomorrow, maybe even as soon as it was over. But you'd regret it. And you'd resent me for taking advantage-"

"No, I wouldn't," she insisted, but he merely shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry, Cuddy…" he growled, and he finally turned to leave. It was Cuddy's voice, suddenly more sure and confident than it had sounded all night.

"I'll make breakfast." It struck him as odd to say the least, and he looked at her with one eyebrow raised. "In the morning…I'll make breakfast…" Her gaze was…hopeful, and for a moment they stared at each other. House set his jaw as she stepped closer, her hand brushing tentatively against his sleeve. She leaned toward him, but he stopped her.

"Promise me something," he said, voice growing hoarse as he felt her breath on his lips. "Promise you won't…" He paused, swallowing and blinking a few times to try and clear his head. "…you won't fire me for this…" To both his and her surprise, Cuddy let out a small laugh at that. There was no time for words afterwards, because then she covered his lips with hers. Just like before, they moved slowly, gently, lips coming together in soft, unhurried meetings. But, again, before long, timidity gave in to passion and need, and Cuddy felt herself being pressed up against the wall as she battled his tongue with her own.

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><p>Outside, the rain grew to a thundering crescendo, falling in sheets that pounded on the roof of the house with a deafening roar. Back at the hospital, the parking lot was long vacated. A stain of deep red on the asphalt slowly became distorted and twisted as the rain lifted it off the pavement, washing it away.<p> 


	2. Willpower

**Here we are at chapter two. This one gave me some trouble, but I had a stern talk with it and I think I straightened it out. XD **

**I apologize for the wait. It was not supposed to take this long to update, but I've been...well, I've been distracted by Doctor Who (As I'm sure Iane Casey can confirm XD). I might be doing some quick fanfics for it (already did one...) but this story will remain my top priority. :) **

****Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White. The views expressed in this story do not reflect my views on any religion or belief system and are not meant to offend anyone.****

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><p><strong>Willpower<strong>

Cuddy awoke with a soft hum of a moan only when a ray of sunlight was cast over her face from the open window. She pulled her cocoon of blankets tighter around her and shielded her eyes against the light. She felt…peaceful, which struck her as odd. Even groggy with newly receding sleep, her head was clear. The memories of the previous evening were proud and bright in her mind, but she felt no panic. She was calm, rested, and her muscles felt wonderfully stretched and relaxed. She was a bit sore in places she didn't know could _be_ sore, but the feeling was a satisfying one.

She turned over, reaching out for…she didn't know what. She wasn't sure if she expected him to still be there or not. Sure, she'd extended the invitation, if she could really call it that, but he had never truly accepted short of plunging his tongue into her mouth, so perhaps it shouldn't have surprised her that he was no longer there in her bed. She could still feel the slight indentation his body had made in the mattress, and his scent lingered on the pillow and the sheets. Her arm flopped heavily onto the bed, across the space where his chest should have been, and she rotated her feet under the covers, slowly waking up her body one part at a time.

She supposed that she should have been more alarmed when she looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly eight o'clock. But again, she felt only an odd sense of relaxation that seemed out of place given the situation. She sat up in bed and stretched languidly, slipping out from under the sheets and donning a loose T-shirt and sweat pants. No need to get dressed up just yet, after all, she mused. Still, when she saw her face in the bathroom mirror, she couldn't help but wince; she hadn't washed off her makeup the night before, and it was smeared and dried on her face, her eyes red and puffy from the tears that had streaked down her cheeks. She splashed some cold water on her skin and let it run down onto her shirt before patting her face dry.

The smell of coffee hit her nose when she was halfway out her bedroom door, and she froze. Someone was moving around in the kitchen down the hall, and she moved slowly, quietly, almost cautiously. Why was her heart suddenly beating so quickly?

* * *

><p>He heard her light footfalls approaching, and he tried his best to look casual. He sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair, determined not to let on how agitated he felt. He didn't belong here; that he knew. In fact, he honestly didn't know what was keeping him there at that table, sipping coffee as he heard her come closer with each tentative step.<p>

He'd awoken early, before Cuddy had stirred, an odd fact in and of itself. He'd slipped out of bed without waking her, dressing and coming downstairs, ready to call a cab and be gone before the sun came up. He supposed he really should have, but something, though he couldn't quite name what, had stopped him from doing so. Something had prevented him from leaving even when he'd known it was the right thing to do. Why hadn't he gone? The question reverberated around his mind stubbornly, but it still had no answer, and he was running out of time.

He looked up at her when she appeared in the doorway, and for a very long moment, they merely stared, both of them wondering what to say. What could one say in a situation like this? He'd seen her bare herself to him, both in the physical sense and in the emotional. He'd held her, felt her skin against his hands, letting her see everything there was to see of him, not only of his body, but also of his mind and heart. They'd shared one night of raw honesty, of pure, unadulterated emotion and pain. They knew, both of them knew, that as much as they may have wished they could, it was impossible to forget that.

And yet here they were, looking at each other just hours after it had happened, back to being the two people they had always been. It was as if everything was just as it should have been, but they could feel in the air…something had changed.

"Hi…" Cuddy finally said. House nodded her way, trying not to let on that he saw reflected in her calm, slightly flustered face so many echoes from the previous evening: panic, vulnerability, fear, pain, ecstasy. It struck him so much that he had to look down at his coffee.

"I made coffee," he said as he stood, desperate to break this tension that now hung in the air around them. He reached for the coffee pot and Cuddy offered a tiny, polite smile, one that he didn't see as he poured her a generous cupful of the hot beverage. He handed it to her. "Strong…I figured that's how you take it."

"It's perfect…thanks…" She added a small helping of the cream that was sitting on the table and took a long sip. He hadn't been kidding about making it strong. It sent a bit of a shock through her system from the first gulp, but it was exactly how she liked it anyway. It amazed her how well House knew her…

Probably _very _well after last night, she thought to herself, and she pursed her lips.

"I thought…" she began, and then she realized she wasn't quite sure how to phrase what she wanted to say. But now House was looking at her expectantly, so she supposed she had no choice but to come out with it. "I thought you'd already left." House shrugged.

"I was promised breakfast," he finally said, and Cuddy could only stare for several moments before she surprised herself by breaking out into a smile. Feeling him watching her still, she stood.

* * *

><p>"You want a ride to work?" Cuddy asked in an attempt to break the silence as she pushed her scrambled eggs around her plate. She could feel House's eyes as he looked up at her, but she did not meet his gaze. She couldn't put a name to what she was feeling. She doubted there even <em>was<em> a name for it; the very fact that she was _not_ freaking out about everything that had happened made her _want_ to do just that. She felt calm when she knew she was supposed to be a wreck, relaxed when she was sure she should have been more tense and stressed out than ever. Her conflicting emotions made her head spin. She found herself thankful when House spoke again, distracting her from her racing thoughts:

"Just to my apartment, I guess…I need to change. Besides…if we show up together, people might talk." She looked down at her plate again, hearing an odd tone to his voice. There was an unmistakable joking edge there; frankly, she would have been more worried if she hadn't heard it. But under that there was something else as well. Something that sounded…melancholy. He was quick to cover it up, however, leading Cuddy to question whether she'd really ever heard it at all.

"Okay…" she said, spearing some eggs with her fork.

"Thanks," he added a moment later, and Cuddy nodded curtly. She couldn't shake this feeling sitting on her shoulder like a tiny angel conscience, whispering in her ear that they needed to talk, that they needed some closure, that they needed to see what would happen now. But she brushed it off; this was exactly what it looked like: a one-night stand. Nothing more. Sure, he'd comforted her in his own twisted way, but only by giving her what she'd needed, what she'd asked him for. It didn't have to grow into anything beyond that. It _couldn't_ grow into anything beyond that, she corrected. What they'd shared already was risky enough, but a relationship? Not only was it crazy, unprofessional and just plain _wrong_, but it wasn't what she wanted.

She'd asked him to provide her with a means to appease her physical wants and needs because she'd known he could, and because she trusted him for some reason that she was sure was beyond anyone else's realm of understanding. But he was not the kind of man she needed or even wanted in her life. In fact, she scolded herself, it was pointless to even be spending this much energy thinking about it as much as she was, so she decided right then and there to drop it for good.

* * *

><p>Cuddy took a deep breath and chastised herself for being so apprehensive. She stepped off of the elevator, file clutched in her hands, and tried to make her steps look purposeful and authoritative as she strode towards his office. It didn't matter what was going on in their personal lives, she told herself. They were at work now, and here, they were boss and employee and nothing more. She had to learn to compartmentalize.<p>

The drive to his apartment had been almost silent. He hadn't mentioned the previous evening even once. There had been no sexual jokes, no quips about her breasts or her backside or how loudly she'd moaned his name. Nothing. To be honest, it had freaked her out a bit. After all, she was not used to him behaving so well, especially not when he'd just gotten lucky. He was one of those men who tended to strut like a peacock after any sexual conquest; he was not the kind of guy to keep his mouth shut. But the drive had been dull at best, and after she'd dropped him at his apartment, she had come straight to the hospital, and House had come in an hour later. Nobody had thought twice about it; it was just business as usual.

He and his team looked up when she opened the door. Something resembling surprise flashed across House's eyes when he saw her, but the four other doctors in the room seemed to think nothing of her visit, and it suddenly occurred to Cuddy that he must not have told them anything. Odd, she thought, but a relief none the less.

"Patient?" House asked, and she realized when she noticed his team's slightly confused expressions that she'd been standing there for several moments without saying a word. She cleared her throat to cover her faux pas and handed him the folder.

"Twenty-year-old college student collapsed at a football game-"

"Symptomatic of too much 'school pride'," he snarked, then making an exaggerated gesture of pretending to take a long drink. Cuddy pursed her lips at him. She had to snap herself out of this, she told herself. She had to retain her authority within the walls of this hospital or things would never go back to being anywhere near normal between them, and others were bound to pick up on it. Even if he hadn't told his team, they weren't stupid; they would figure it out eventually if she let them, and she wasn't about to allow that to happen.

"No alcohol in her system," she said with renewed confidence. "And no other drugs or toxins either. No previous illness, no family history, no nothing." She pushed the file toward him, and he took it, looking her in the eye. She met his gaze without hesitation, and then broke it and sauntered out the door, vaguely hearing House turn to his team as she left.

"You heard the boss-lady," he said loudly. "What could make a young, energetic college girl go down faster than…well…a young, energetic college girl?"

* * *

><p>Cuddy felt as though she was running on auto-pilot through the rest of the day, speaking to donors without really listening to the conversation, filling out paperwork without actually reading what was on the page. She supposed that this was probably not healthy, nor was it particularly productive, but she couldn't get her mind to stop wandering, and by the time one o'clock rolled around and she'd finished picking at her lunchtime salad, she knew there was no way to put off the unavoidable for any longer.<p>

She found him in his office, staring at some document on his computer, and he looked up when she opened the door. She stepped forward slowly, seeming almost shy.

"You haven't told anyone what happened…" she stated plainly. He shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

"What's there to tell? I just gave you a ride home." She was about to open her eyes and question him, but when he met her gaze, she understood in seconds, and she silenced herself.

"I guess…you're right…" she admitted, feeling foolish for being so edgy when he seemed as collected as could be.

"I usually am," he reminded her, and she allowed herself a bit of a smile.

"Well…" She sighed heavily and clasped her hands. It was time to make things as plain as could be. "I appreciate it, House. I appreciated you…letting your human side show a bit…but-"

"Let me guess…you won't be needing any more 'rides' from me?" He cocked one eyebrow expectantly, and Cuddy pursed her lips.

"You know I can't…"

"I know." And with that, he returned his attention to his computer monitor, something which left Cuddy feeling slightly taken aback.

"That's it?" she asked in surprise. "You're not gonna make some pithy comment about our sexual history or something?"

"Seems like _you're _the one doing that at the moment," he pointed out, and she shut her mouth quickly.

"I'm just not used to you being so…prudent." House sighed and hung his head before clasping his hands on his desk and looking up at her.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked her. "Do you want some heartfelt confession that last night had to mean something huge? Because it didn't. I'm sorry, but it just didn't. You said yourself you just want things to go back to the way they were."

"Of course I do, but I still feel like we need to-" She was cut off by the feeling of her phone vibrating in her hands, and she realized that she'd completely forgotten she had been holding it. She shot House a slightly apologetic look before turning from him and answering it.

"Doctor Cuddy," said a slightly flustered voice on the other end, "There's a man here to see you."

"Why are you calling me on my cell, Lauren?" Cuddy asked authoritatively. "Why didn't you page me?"

"I tried, Doctor Cuddy. Paged you three times, but you never responded." Cuddy furrowed her brows and felt against her hip for her pager, but it was nowhere to be found.

"Yes…well…I don't have any appointments scheduled right now. Does he-"

"He doesn't have an appointment, but he's insisting that he see you right now, Doctor Cuddy." Her voice fell to a more hushed tone when she added: "He's getting belligerent. If you don't come down I'm afraid I might have to call security…" Cuddy rubbed her temples and shot House one last look of apology before heading for the door, but he wasn't paying attention to her; he was looking at his computer once more, and she couldn't tell if he was truly interested in what he was looking at there or if he really just wanted her to leave so this tension hanging in the around them would vanish with her. It didn't make much of a difference to her anyway, and she left without another word to him.

"What's his name?" she asked hastily as she walked toward the elevator.

"Er…Mr. Mendel-" Cuddy stopped dead in her tracks. In the background, she heard the angry ravings of a man, and though she couldn't make out the words very well, Lauren quickly corrected: "Reverend Mendel, I mean." Cuddy's heart began to race from a mixture of fear and anger. She didn't want to see that man. What could she do for him? Was he suing the hospital? Was he angry with her personally? Did he just want to quote Bible verses and fire and brimstone at her to frighten her? Whatever the reason, she didn't particularly want to find out.

"Dr. Cuddy. _Dr. Cuddy_." Lauren's voice on the other line made her snap out of her trance-like state of shock, and she stumbled over her words as she promised her she'd be right down, and then she hung up.

* * *

><p>The moment she stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor, she could hear him yelling. The sound was coming from her office, and she hurried in its direction, heart beat faster and harder with every step she took, but she pressed forward, heading closer to the noise even when every survival instinct she had ingrained in her brain told her to run. Fight or flight in all its sweaty-palmed, heart-pounding glory, she thought.<p>

She had to wipe her hands on her skirt as she entered the clinic. Her office door was closed, and she could see the large frame of a man stalking around inside, raving loudly as a flustered-looking nurse tried to placate him. She felt a strong hand touch her arm and she turned. Bill, one of the hospital's security guards, met her gaze from a full foot above her face.

"Got a call about an agitated visitor," he said in a deep baritone. Cuddy cast another glance at her office. That poor nurse met her eyes and she looked ready to sprint out the door. She was keeping her cool, though, as far as Cuddy could tell, an admirable trait in such a situation.

"Just let me talk to him," Cuddy said, putting a hand on Bill's broad shoulder and meeting his chocolate brown eyes. He nodded, and Cuddy turned to enter her office, but thought of one last thing before she did so. She faced him again. "Stay here," she requested, and Bill put his hands on his hips, watching her intently as she walked to her office.

"And here she is," the man growled as she closed the door behind her. Cuddy met his eyes for a moment before turning to Lauren.

"Thank you," she said. It was all the cue the young woman needed to scurry out the door and close it quick behind her. Cuddy honestly couldn't blame her; the man's air was imposing to say the least. He was a large man, not fat, but just generally bulky in every direction including up. He stood about Bill's height, looming over Cuddy's head, steely grey eyes peering out at her from under a heavy brow. Hair that at one time had probably been jet black had faded silver with age, thinning at the crown of his blocky head. His angular face was pristinely smooth, not a trace of facial hair or stubble to be seen. His nose was wide and flat, as if someone had punched him too hard at one time and smashed it up against his skull, and his nostrils flared threateningly, like a bull in the ring. Cuddy had to fight against her urge to take a step back and instead made her stance more solid, imposing her authority.

"Can I help you, Mr. Mendel?" she asked as professionally as possible.

"Reverend Mendel," he corrected loudly.

"Excuse me…Reverend Mendel."

"My daughter is dead." Cuddy inwardly staggered a bit at that. His expression was as hard as ever as he spoke, his arms crossed defensively across his chest.

"Yes…I'm so sorry for your loss." How many times had she said those words in her career? One hundred? Two hundred? It had to be more than that. They sounded tired, like they'd loss all of their meaning from overuse.

"It was God's will," he insisted. Cuddy tried to nod, not to agree, but to be polite. He surprised her then by breaking into a sour grin. "You don't believe that, do you?" he asked with a laugh.

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you religious, Dr. Cuddy?"

"To a degree, yes…but I feel that it's a very personal-"

"My daughter had turned from the Lord, Dr. Cuddy. She never told me, but I could feel it in every corner of our home." He sighed heavily. "Like a draft, always drifting through the house, no matter how tightly the doors and windows were closed against it." Cuddy merely stared, unsure how to respond. She couldn't afford to risk upsetting him, especially given how agitated he was, and understandably so. The man _had_ just lost his daughter, after all. She repeated that fact to herself over and over, hoping it would keep her from saying anything she would regret.

"Reverend Mendel…" she said as calmly as she could when he paused. "I can't tell you how deeply sorry I am about your daughter. But what is it you need from me?" He looked up at her, eyes blazing.

"You can't help me. Just like you couldn't help her. Because of you-"

"We did everything we could for your daughter," she defended, voice rising. She reigned herself in. He was silent, simply staring at her for several long moments.

"Everything but what she needed," he finally huffed, and he stalked out of her office before she could stop him. His words, cryptic at best, rang through her mind even after the door had closed behind him. Her chest ached, and she stumbled backward, sitting on her couch and trying to regain control of her breathing.

She felt it, that familiar sense of guilt and loneliness that had taken hold of her the night before, and she valiantly fought back against it. She almost would have felt better if the father had come to tell her he would be suing the hospital; that was what she had been expecting. She was tired of surprises, tired of being told this had been her fault. A lawsuit would at least have been familiar territory.

* * *

><p>It began to snow by that evening, a light flurry that dusted the grass without sticking to the hot asphalt of the roads. Cuddy wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck as he walked out into the parking lot; it was dark and cold, and she wanted very much to get to her car and get home as fast as possible.<p>

Still, that nagging little voice in the back of her mind refused to quiet down, and she couldn't help but think about forbidden things. The lingering ache that had started that afternoon with Reverend Mendel's visit had ingrained itself deep in her chest, making every step hurt. It felt like the previous night, and she couldn't stop herself from remembering how she'd dealt with it then. It had been wrong on so many levels, but for that one night, she'd felt…safe, protected, loved. She swallowed and shook her head. It was not the time to be thinking of such things. She needed to learn to deal with this feelings alone…alone…alone in her home, in her bed, cold, mind racing, sleep elusive.

No…no more of this, she told herself, and she straightened up and walked on.

Something caught her eye.

When she turned, he was looking right at her, eyes gleaming out of the shadows, standing over the very spot where his daughter had lain the night before. His hands were on his hips, and he made no move toward her. He just looked at her, glared at her, jaw set and nostrils flaring. She wanted to look away, wanted to leave him, but she was frozen to that spot, gazing back at him, those eyes blazing, burning into hers, boring a hole through her skull.

He looked away, trudged off from that spot, leaving her alone, and she staggered, trying to regain her composure as she walked to her car, her legs feeling heavy. She got in and just sat there, breathing erratically, trying to work out what it had been about that gaze that had affected her so and failing.

* * *

><p>It couldn't happen again.<p>

It was crazy and reckless and wrong. One night alone had been enough to throw their entire relationship for a loop. Even if he refused to show it, she knew it had affected him just as much as it had her. Another slip of any kind could easily destroy any hope of getting things back to normal.

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

It had been what she had needed. He'd given her what she'd asked for. It had been her fault, all of it, and he was just along for the ride, suffering all the more for it. She couldn't put him through that again, couldn't put him in that precarious position. He wasn't equipped to handle emotions like these, and she couldn't blame him for it; it was just how he was wired. To ask him to be anything else was borderline cruel.

But it had felt…so good. Not just physically, although that had definitely been the case on that front as well. No, it was more than that. They were nothing more than…friends? Could she call them that? Their relationship went deeper than mere friendship, but it was never meant to be a romantic one. Still, he knew her, and she liked to think that she knew him, and being with him, having him, it had been like nothing she'd experienced before. His arms around her, so tender, so gentle, had been such a change from his acerbic attitude at work. He had been so different, and she'd felt cared for and safe. All her pain and guilt had washed away for just that short time. She craved it now, that safety, that stability. Even if she knew that it would tear everything apart, there was no way to turn back.

She turned onto his street.

* * *

><p>He was thinking of her.<p>

He didn't want to. Not really. He wanted to forget everything that had happened the night before because he had to. Even though he knew she probably didn't realize it, he was aware of the consequences that would follow if they let it affect them. Their relationship was screwed up and fragile as it was, and throwing this into the mix could easily make it boil over. It was one night, so insignificant, but so dangerous at the same time. So he'd made a point of avoiding the thought of her. Maybe if he could forget this, things would smooth themselves over.

Even he didn't believe that.

Still, what was he supposed to do? Talk? It wouldn't do any good. It couldn't change what had happened. One night, that was all it was, and that was all it would ever be.

He didn't want to believe it when he heard a knock at his door. He didn't want to believe that he already knew who it was even before he opened it. There she was, looking haggard and worn, almost parallel to the night before. There were no words this time, no tender touches or hesitant caresses. She pressed her lips to his without a sound, and they stumbled inside, hearing the door slam shut. The sound was distant and echoing.

He wanted to stop it.

She wanted to stop it.

But neither of them did.


	3. Overthinking

**Agh...another long wait. What can I say? My muse was being annoying. But she came through for me in the end...**

**Thank you for being understanding and for giving me all this love! You'll never know how much I truly appreciate it! ^^ **

******Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White. ******

* * *

><p><strong>Overthinking<strong>

Skirt, blouse, coat, shoes…skip the makeup, ignore the hair, forget about wrinkled clothes. Purse, find the purse. Car keys, house keys, wallet, cell phone…

Cuddy's mind was buzzing as she buttoned up her coat and searched for her purse. She found it sitting on the couch, contents spilling out. She huffed in irritation and bent over the gather her things, feeling antsy, needing to get out as soon as possible.

It was early, and House was still asleep. She'd woken up engulfed in his scent, her arm slung over his chest. What could have been a very pleasant way to wake up had only filled her with shame. Memories of the night before flashed through her mind over and over again. She'd broken down, given into temptation…

She shook her head to clear her mind and glanced down the hall toward the bedroom. Still no signs that he was stirring just yet. She had to admit she did feel a tiny stab of guilt at the way she was sneaking out when he had stayed with her the night before…

No, don't think about that, she told herself. That was dangerous territory. Now she just needed to focus on getting out of here before he woke up.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Her hand was on the doorknob when she heard him, and she spun around with a gasp. He was leaning against the doorframe in the corridor, shirtless, sweat pants sagging on his body. They were backwards, she noticed; he seemed to have gotten half-dressed in a hurry.

"I-" she opened her mouth to reply, but he interrupted her.

"You really thought I wouldn't notice you sneaking out before sunrise?" She wanted to protest, to defend herself, but she just couldn't bring herself to do so. She felt drained and exhausted and she didn't have the energy to make any sort of argument.

"I thought…you were still asleep," she admitted. He quirked an eyebrow at her and she let out an exhausted exhale, rubbing her temples. "Last night…shouldn't have happened."

"Didn't seem to stop you," he pointed out. She tilted her head at him, shooting a look his way that said she wasn't in the mood to be analyzed.

"I can't stay."

"Why?" The question took her by surprise.

"Why do you want me to?" House shrugged.

"Don't. Just curious as to why you're so jittery." She let out a bitter laugh them, staring at him like she couldn't believe what he was saying.

"How could I _not_ be jittery?" Another long sigh later, she stepped forward, moving closer to him, but still keeping a careful distance between their bodies. "I'm sorry," she said, voice heavy with regret. "I never should have put you in this position…I just…needed something, and you were there to give it to me…"

"That's it," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"That's it," she repeated. She pursed her lips; another thought was forming in her head. House could tell. "And…it really can't-"

"Don't repeat yourself, Cuddy," he said. She paused; she'd said those exact words, "This can't happen again," over and over to herself over the course of the past twenty-four hours. And yet…

She took several very purposeful steps toward him, then, and she stared him straight in the eye.

"Here's what's going to happen, House," she said authoritatively, "I'm going to work now. And you're going to come in late like you always do and we're not going to talk about this. At all. Ever. Understand?"

"Well that's a change, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Yesterday all you wanted to do was talk. Now you're all but putting a taboo on it."

"Yesterday was…different." Yesterday she'd had at least half an excuse for what had happened between them. Now she had no such luxury.

"Uh-huh…" He watched as she turned and gathered her things, waiting for her to turn around once more as he knew she inevitably would.

"We might be able to avoid total implosion if we…"

"Sweep it under the rug? That is what you administrative types are best at, isn't it?" There was more venom in his voice than either of them had anticipated, and, truth be told, he hadn't expected his words to sound so acidic. He felt something tugging in his chest, like he was hurt. But he wasn't. Not really. He didn't care if Cuddy snuck out after what had happened the night before, or the night before that. Why should he? No, he wasn't hurt. But then why did he sound that way?

The look in her eyes gave away the fact that the bitterness of his words had not gone unnoticed. She set her jaw and turned, heading for the door. House didn't try and stop her, and she didn't let herself say anything more.

* * *

><p>Everyone was looking at her.<p>

No they weren't, but it certainly felt that way.

Cuddy knew what she was feeling was nothing more than paranoia, but it didn't stop her palms from sweating as she entered her office later that morning. She was on time. Her makeup was fixed, her clothes were neat, her stride was confident, so there was no logical reason that they should have known, but it felt like they did anyway. It was as if every person whom she passed _knew_, as if they were all watching her, judging her. Every pair of eyes seemed like the eyes of the girl's father, piercing and hard. By the time she got to her office, she slipped inside and closed the door behind her, letting out a sigh of relief.

One day at a time. No, one hour at a time. One minute, one second, one step. Everything would be okay. Eventually.

If she told herself that enough, she thought, maybe she would start to believe it.

* * *

><p>As much as she hated to admit it, Cuddy jumped a bit when the door to her office was thrown open later that morning. Truth be told, there was a split second where she thought that it would be Reverend Mendel once again, and her mind spun in that moment with questions about how she would handle that situation should it arise. It wasn't exactly something she wanted to think about at all. But it was not the reverend standing there in her doorway; it was none other than House, his eyes gleaming with the idea that had apparently nestled itself behind them.<p>

"Morning, Dr. Cuddy," he announced, voice dripping with false respect for authority. She cocked her head at him, barely acknowledging his presence. He stood in the middle of her office, hands resting on his cane.

"Just say it," she prompted as he moved slowly toward her desk. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Say what?" Finally, she looked up at him.

"You either came to gloat or mock me for what happened last night, right? Just get it over with because I have things I need to do…"

"Wow…" House scoffed. "Somebody's edgy." She looked at him again and shot him a hard glare, not bothering to hold back for politeness' sake this time. It barely seemed to faze him, and he merely leaned on her desk, staring down at her until she put down her paper work that she'd been pretending to pay attention to.

"Actually," he began. "I have a proposition for you."

"What kind of 'proposition'?" she asked somewhat dubiously.

"The fool-proof kind."

"Somehow I doubt that…" Suddenly, with a sweep of his arm, he pointed his cane directed at her, the tip mere inches from her nose. She unceremoniously pushed it away to a more comfortable distance (though "comfortable" was a word she defined loosely at this point).

"We slept together last night," he announced. Cuddy fidgeted in her seat before forcing herself to make eye contact again.

"Your point being?"

"Let me finish. We slept together last night, and _you_-" Again, that damn cane was in her face. She pushed it away a second time, a little harder. "…snuck out before you'd had your coffee." She slumped a bit, pursing her lips.

"I already told you, I-" He shushed her.

"Will you let me finish my point?" Cuddy was a bit taken aback, but closed her mouth none the less. "Right…as I said. We slept together last night…" He gestured at her, prompting her to nod. "…and you snuck out." Another prompt, another nod, albeit a somewhat reluctant one. "_But_, you may have had a point."

"Just to be clear, are we talking about the sleeping together part or the sneaking out part?"

"Both."

"Okay…and that point would be…"

"Who needs strings?" Cuddy was used to House's cryptic and downright strange remarks, but this one left her with absolutely no clue what in the world he was talking about.

"What?" He shrugged.

"If you've got something good," he explained. "Why ruin it with strings?"

"And what do we have, exactly?" The question earned her a sarcastic roll of his eyes.

"What we have, my dear Cuddy, is sex. Good sex." This time it was her turn to mirror his actions, rolling her eyes as well.

"You've got to be kidding me…" she sighed, both to him and to herself.

"What's there to kid about?"

"That night was a mistake, House. Last night even more so…"

"Maybe it was, but that doesn't mean we can't learn something from it. And when I say learn, I mean-" She brought up a hand to stop him there.

"I did learn something, House. In the most basic dictionary definition of the word." She stood up so she was facing him on his level, her desk still acting as a buffer between their bodies. "I learned that there are things that can make my emotions get the better of me. And that plus you-" She stuck a finger against his chest. "is a very bad combination."

"Well…I wouldn't exactly say that," he smirked. Cuddy suddenly had an urge to throw him out of her office. Literally.

"You're not the guy I need, House," she said somberly, voice low and serious, a warning.

"See, _that's_ exactly what I'm talking about!" he excitedly announced. "You don't want a relationship with me. And I definitely don't want one with you…" Cuddy chose to brush the remark off, trying her best not to seem offended by his tone. "But luckily, that's not what I'm looking for."

"You said-"

"I said I _didn't _want strings!" Cuddy straightened up, crossing her arms over her chest.

"So you just want to take advantage of my precarious emotional state and use me for free sex." He didn't bat an eye.

"Yep." Her lips hardened into a thin line. "Granted, you're free to use me all you'd like too."

"Get out," she said, eyes narrowing.

"Oh, come on. We're two perfectly responsible, single, sexually mature adults with needs…Why not meet up for a little stress relief every now and then?" Cuddy wasn't sure whether she was more angry about his remarks or about how something somewhere deep in her mind was actually tempted by his offer. She decided quickly that it was not a point that was particularly important or that needed immediate attention, so she was willing to let that one slide in favor of getting him to leave before she found out for sure…

"House," she enunciated carefully, letting him hear how close she was getting to her edge. "Out." He lingered for a moment, and she was sure that she was going to need to repeat herself, perhaps a little louder, but then he turned and slinked toward the door.

When he'd left, Cuddy collapsed in her chair, mind reeling. It occurred to her that if she kept letting House throw her for these loops like this, she may never return to any state of normalcy. She hated the way her heart was pounding (she hadn't even noticed it until now) and the way her mind buzzed. Worst of all, she hated how very, truly close she'd come to actually giving his offer a second thought.

* * *

><p>She had just come back from a lunch that she hadn't been able to eat and was rummaging through her purse for some painkillers for the headache that was searing behind her eyes when she heard a knock on her office door. She sighed irately, straightening up and preparing to glare at the visitor whose identity she was sure she already knew.<p>

"I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now, Hou-" When she did see the figure lingering in her doorway this time, she stopped dead, mouth hanging open for a few moments in disbelief.

"Is it a bad time?" the woman asked quietly. Cuddy immediately took several steps forward toward her and felt a twinge in her heart when she saw her flinch.

"No, not at all." She stepped back and gestured toward the couch. "Come in. Have a seat."

"I can't stay long…" the woman said, clutching a tissue in her slim hands. Her eyes were bloodshot and red, like she hadn't slept in days. It was understandable. In fact, Cuddy would have been worried if she'd looked any other way. After all, the woman had just recently lost her daughter. How was a mother supposed to react to something like that?

"My husband doesn't know I'm here…" Cuddy pursed her lips and nodded as the woman stepped inside.

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Mendel?" she asked in her gentlest and most sincere voice. The woman's gaunt face was pale and tired-looking, her light red hair stringy and tangled. But what could she care about appearances at a time like this? And how could anyone who knew what had happened judge her for it in good conscience?

"Oh, nothing…please…" She looked away. She seemed on the verge of tears, but that was probably an almost constant state for her now. The thought made Cuddy's heart heavy.

"I hope you know…how sorry I am for your loss," Cuddy said. She wanted to reach out and take the woman's hand, but knew the gesture would probably be inappropriate, so she resisted. Mrs. Mendel nodded.

"Dr. Cuddy…" she said after a moment's pause. She stared down at the floor as she spoke. "I just came here to ask you…"

"Yes?" Cuddy prompted after a beat of silence. Mrs. Mendel drew in a shaky breath and looked up to meet Cuddy's gaze, her eyes glistening with tears that she was too tired to hold back.

"I just…I need to know…is there anything I could have done?" Cuddy was about to interject and stop her right then. Guilt was not an emotion she needs to add on top of all this, but the woman pressed on. "Please…just tell me."

"No," Cuddy immediately said. "You can't blame yourself for this. It's nobody's fault."

"I keep telling myself that…" Mrs. Mendel sighed, letting out a humorless, tired laugh. This time, Cuddy did reach out and place a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated. "I can't tell you how sorry I am." The two women's eyes met for a long moment, and Cuddy couldn't help but wonder at how different this woman's hazel eyes were from her husband's cold glare. This was a woman wracked with pent-up emotion, but with a warm and loving heart underneath it all, a heart open and vulnerable enough to be wounded. She nodded.

"Thank you…" she said, voice sounding strained. It almost seemed as if there was more she wanted to say, but something stopped her at the last moment and she silenced herself.

"I should…" The mourning woman fidgeted with the tissue in her hands before turning to leave.

"Mrs. Mendel," Cuddy called, and strode over to her desk, grabbing a piece of paper and scribbling her cell number down. "If you need anything…here's my number." She handed the paper to Mrs. Mendel, who took it graciously. Cuddy watched her go, heart aching for her.

* * *

><p>She sat through a board meeting that afternoon, not saying a word. The fact that her mind and body seemed to be continuously on autopilot was beginning to worry her; this couldn't go on forever. When one of the board members asked her a question halfway through the meeting, she realized to her horror that she hadn't heard a word of what had been asked. She felt a bit like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, and it was probably a safe bet to assume that her facial expression told a similar story as well.<p>

"I'm sorry?" she asked. A few of them sighed, not doing much to hide the action. It irked her, but she didn't let that show.

"Are you alright, Dr. Cuddy? You seem a bit distracted."

"No…I mean yes. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? We could break for a quick nap if you'd like," he snarked. Cuddy's eyebrows furrowed.

"That won't be necessary," she replied in her most politely sour tone. She sifted through her papers in an attempt to look like she was searching for an answer to the unheard question.

This couldn't possibly be healthy…

* * *

><p>She half-stumbled out of the hospital that evening, scarf hanging haphazardly from her neck, a bundle of papers tucked under one arm, the other hand busy searching for her car keys. Of course it was impossible for her to get to her car and get home without something irksome happening, so when the papers spilled out of her grip and scattered themselves all over the asphalt of the parking lot, it didn't come as a surprise. That still didn't stop a myriad of mumbled curses from escaping her lips.<p>

As she bent over to retrieve her things, she sensed him coming up behind her. It was an odd sensation; she didn't hear him, didn't smell him, didn't see him. She just…sensed him. She brushed the feeling away with a sigh.

"Did you come to try and use my compromised emotional state to get free sex again?" she spat, not turning to look at him just yet. A stray budget report blew away from her reaching fingers, and she watched him catch it under his tennis shoe.

"Yes," he stated, picking the paper up. She reluctantly met his gaze.

"Well you're out of luck. I'm going home alone tonight." Those words sounded pathetic to her even as she spoke them.

"You know…" he began, withholding the paper from her when she reached for it. "Despite what you might think, I _am_ thinking of your emotional well-being here." Cuddy scoffed.

"Oh really? Why do I find that hard to believe?"

"You need to relax."

"I'm fine…"

"No you're not."

"It's none of your business." Now it was House's turn to scoff at her.

"Pretty sure it became my business when you dragged me into bed with you." She glared at him as best she could. And all things considered, she thought she actually did a rather good job of it too. He wordlessly handed her the paper and she took it, tucking it in with the others and turning to leave. She wished that he wouldn't follow her, but of course he wasn't going to allow that wish to come true.

"You know…you might have sold your soul to the administrative devil more than a few years ago, but I'm sure some of that medical school textbook know-how is still crammed in that brain of yours somewhere. So you should know stress isn't healthy." She didn't turn; she merely continued forward, hoping that he'd lose interest and leave her alone if she ignored him.

"You need some sort of stress relief routine. Like journaling or…spool knitting."

"Or sex with you?" she asked bitterly. Even without looking at him, she knew he would shrug at that.

"Your words…not mine."

"I do yoga," she said.

"See, _that_ explains the excellent flexibility…" At that, she did turn, and she saw the expression on his face was a sickeningly smug one.

"Drop it," she hissed warningly.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you're giving me a migraine."

"Like I said…stress…"

"At the moment, you're not relieving anything, House. You're just raising my blood pressure…"

"Cuddy, I'm honestly trying to help you out here. Think about it. No relationship, no commitment, nothing but free, no-strings-attached 'stress relief'."

"If you really think I'm ever going to take you up on that or any similar offer, you're crazier than I thought." She turned again, stalking away from him, her stride adamant and stubborn.

"Think about it," she heard him say, but he didn't follow after her. Finally, she was rid of him.

She would absolutely, positively _not_ "think about it," she said to herself. As she'd repeated in her own head over and over, the mere idea of the whole thing was insane. She wouldn't allow herself to be tempted by it. She'd had an emotionally weak moment, and maybe he had been there for her in a way that she'd never expected, but that was a one-time (okay…two-time) thing. No more. The sooner they moved on from this, the better, as far as she was concerned.

Never mind that the feeling of his arms around her had made her feel more safe and secure than she had in months. Never mind that he'd made her forget all the terrible things that had been happening. Never mind that these last two nights of sleep had been some of the best she'd ever had in her life. Never mind the fact that as she'd taken that paper from him, she'd felt a shiver run up her spine when their fingers had touched-

Wait…had it? No, that was just imagination. She couldn't allow herself to think like that. She pushed from her mind any thought of his musky, soothing scent. She wiped away every memory of his lips against her neck, of his husky voice whispering her name…

Oh…oh no…

She was _thinking _about it.


	4. The Arrangement

**Bwaaah...When will I ever manage to update in a timely manner? Argh...well, good news is, I'm all caught up with Doctor Who, so that's no longer a distraction (*cough* or an excuse *cough*). Bad news is now that we're nearing the end of July I have college stuff to think about. x.x **

**I just started keeping a character reference sheet to go along with this story to keep track of eye color, names, relationships, hair color, etc. If there are any continuity errors, please let me know so I can fix them and keep track of things for future reference, thanks. :)**

**PS, Happy belated birthday to Iane Casey! :D**

****Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White. This chapter deals with suicide and is not for the faint of heart. The views expressed in this story do not reflect my views on any religion or belief system and are not meant to offend anyone.****

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Arrangement<strong>_

Cuddy slept on her couch that night. It was storming again, and she woke up to the sound of water dripping on her living room floor. With a groan, she hauled herself up, still wrapped in an old wool blanket that still smelled like it had been left in the back of a closet for years. Groggily, her muscles aching, she trudged into the kitchen and fetched the first piece of cookery she could get her hands on (a stainless steel wok) and took it back into the living room, placing it under the leak.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep on the couch. She'd been half-reading a book, and she had already been so exhausted from the past couple of days that she had just dozed off. She still couldn't even remember the title of the book she had been reading when it had happened, let alone the contents of it.

Now she hadn't been reading to put off going back to bed by herself.

Never mind the fact that she'd tried sleeping under her own sheets and had failed because they had felt too cold and the bed too large. Never mind that something had seemed to be missing from the pillow beside her. That's wasn't the point, and it certainly didn't mean anything.

And she _definitely_ didn't miss him. Nor did she miss the time they'd spent together, however fleeting it had been.

It was nearly two in the morning, and she was still tired beyond comprehension. She slipped back under her fraying blanket on the couch, knocking the book off of the coffee table and on to the floor, but not really caring. Within just a couple of moments, she'd fallen into a somewhat restless sleep to the sound of water steadily dripping onto the wok on the living room floor.

* * *

><p>"How are you feeling, Charlotte?" Cuddy asked as she entered the hospital room. She noticed the girl's father standing up as she closed the door behind her, but she acknowledged him with nothing more than a nod.<p>

"Fine, I guess…" Charlotte replied with a shrug.

"And the abdominal pains?"

"They've gotten better."

"The nausea too?"

"Yeah."

"Well that's good," Cuddy said as she donned a pair of latex gloves and took out her thermometer, placing a new plastic cap on the tip and pressing it into the girl's ear. A few moments and a beep later, she glanced at the resulting data. Normal.

"Well, still no fever, so I think we can rule out infection."

"I could have told you that," said the girl's father. Cuddy looked up at him. "Charlotte doesn't get sick."

"Everyone gets sick, Reverend Mendel," Cuddy corrected him politely. His jaw set, and she turned back to Charlotte. She had given up pretending to like that man months before. Neither of them saw much point in hiding their dislike for each other, and while Cuddy was as polite as she could be to maintain her professionalism, things didn't go much deeper than that.

"At this point, we're thinking it's probably something environmental," she said to Charlotte. "Something you ate, something you were exposed to at home or at school."

"I didn't eat anything weird," Charlotte said.

"It might not have seemed out of the ordinary, but you still could have been exposed to something without realizing it. Can you think of any similarities between two months ago and when you started feeling sick yesterday?" Charlotte merely shook her head. Something resembling disappointment flashed through her hazel eyes.

"She wouldn't have been exposed to anything at home," Reverend Mendel insisted. "We keep a clean house."

"I'm sure you do. But even someone living in the most pristine home can be exposed to some toxin or parasite." He scoffed, and Cuddy felt her patience wearing. "Is there anything you'd like to add, Reverend Mendel," she asked, letting a carefully modulated amount of venom slip through in her voice. He pursed his lips.

"There's nothing wrong with Charlotte that can't be healed through prayer," he insisted, and Cuddy had to fight not to roll her eyes. She'd heard plenty of similar comments from him before, and they no longer surprised her. Still, she couldn't help but feel frustrated and more than a bit put off by the fact that he actually believed that to be true.

"I'm not denying that prayer has its place, but in cases like this, I think it's best to augment it with medical science."

"Has your medical science cured cancer yet? AIDS? What about the common cold?"

"Has prayer?" Cuddy spat, having to remind herself to reign in her temper.

"Yes," he replied quickly.

"Dad…" Charlotte interjected. Reverend Mendel seemed to stagger a bit, recovering himself quickly and standing to his full height again.

"You can't even figure out what's causing this," he claimed, gesturing at his daughter. Charlotte looked up at Cuddy apologetically.

"I really am feeling better," she offered.

"Still, I want to make sure we figure out what's really going on," replied Cuddy. She looked back up at the girl's father. "I'm going to order some blood tests and an abdominal CT scan. I assume we have your consent?" He nodded stiffly, sending a less-than-friendly look her way. Cuddy turned on her heel and left, looking back only to see the reverend approaching his daughter with a Bible in his hand, bowing his head and praying. Charlotte's eyes remained open, however, and she was looking directly at her. Cuddy couldn't help by feel somewhat unsettled by her gaze.

When she turned around again she was on the roof.

The transition should have thrown her for a loop to say the least, but she felt no surprise. Instead she felt only hopelessness, so crushing that it made it hard for her to breathe. She stepped onto the ledge, feeling as though she was not in any way in control of her own body's actions. Perhaps that was because she somehow knew that it was not her own body at all. This body was young and this mind was riddled with insecurities and questions and fear. A strand of brown hair fell before her now youthful face as she looked down at the parking lot below. A few people were milling about, and one of them, a nurse, it seemed, looked up and gasped.

The air smelled like rain.

Cuddy's heart was pounding. No, _Charlotte's _heart was pounding. Cuddy was merely an onlooker, a spectator in the girl's mind. Still, she felt everything that was going through that young mind with the same intensity that Charlotte must have felt. Images flashed through her memory of her father, of Bibles and churches and late nights spent in pews, of silent family dinners and of hearing Mother cry at night, of questions that weren't meant to be asked, let alone answered, of missed birthday parties and dances that she'd never been asked to. The rawness of the emotion that flooded through her then caused her stomach to knot.

Cuddy wanted to scream, wanted to stop it, but then someone shouted and suddenly she was falling .

* * *

><p>Cuddy woke up in a cold sweat, the sun just barely beginning to peek in through the living room window, dying the room a light pink. She realized that there were tears on her face, and she reached up to wipe them away. The dream had been so vivid, as if she was really reliving that terrible night, as if she'd been transported back in time and planted in Charlotte's mind. Though she knew such a thing was impossible, it didn't make it any easier to control her breathing.<p>

Just a dream…or were they memories? Cuddy didn't want to linger on such questions just then; she was still as tired as could be, and she knew even without looking a the clock on the mantle that it was getting close to when she had to get up.

Her thoughts imminently roamed back to House as she trudged into the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker, and she felt like grabbing her subconscious by the lapels and giving it a good shake to make it behave. She couldn't dwell on that, couldn't let herself consider his "offer."

Maybe he had been sincere in suggesting the two of them have an arrangement, she mused. What if he had honestly been thinking about their well-being? It certainly would be a useful method of stress relief, as he'd said. But for how long? Short term maybe it could work, but keeping it a secret from the hospital and, even more difficult, keeping their personal lives separate from their work relationship, would inevitably lead to more stress than it would alleviate.

Still…who was she to deny that she trusted him? She couldn't explain why, and she knew that her trust was probably misplaced, but if she was to embark on some wild endeavor such as this, wasn't it better to do so with someone she'd known for years rather than somebody who may as well have been a total stranger? As painfully aware as she was of the fact that thinking of such things was dangerous if not downright reckless, she couldn't prevent her mind from wandering to places it was not supposed to go. Now that she thought about it, she was sick of people telling her - of she herself telling her own mind and subconscious - what was right and what was wrong. She was tired of reigning in what were considered to be improper or inappropriate thoughts. She was just _tired_.

She filled her mug with coffee, strong, and took a long gulp. It was almost shockingly bitter and hot enough to come close to burning her throat, but it was the jumpstart her system needed. She put the mug down defiantly and wiped her eyes, going to get dressed, doing all she could to cast the memories and images of the dream that still clung to her mind like a stubborn fog aside.

* * *

><p>House finally relented and admitted to himself that he wouldn't be getting any sleep that night when he turned over and looked at the clock at 4:37 am. With a heavy sigh, he threw the covers off of him, massaging his leg as he sat up on the edge of the bed. He was doing his best to avoid the thought of Cuddy in his bed the previous night, trying as hard as he was able to keep himself from remembering how warm her arms and body had been around him, and how cold the bed now felt without her there. Of course, there was no need to read into that fact too much. Wilson undoubtedly would bring the point up over and over again if House ever revealed what had happened to him. Of course his friend would feel the undeniable need to <em>talk<em> about it. The thought made House grimace.

There was nothing to talk about, at least not to Wilson, he thought to himself as he hauled himself up and shuffled to the bathroom. There wasn't even much to talk about with Cuddy. All he'd done was propose a perfectly plausible and genuine offer to her, and she was free to refuse or accept as she wished.

Of course, he knew she eventually _would_ accept.

At least he hoped she would.

He was careful to clarify even in his own mind that this was not an emotional connection. Sure, the first time they'd kissed after her adoption had fallen through, he'd been worried about her. He was man enough to admit that. And he had cared for her physical and emotional well-being when he'd driven her home after that girl's suicide. It wasn't like he was a cold-hearted jerk who cared nothing about Cuddy's feelings. But she wasn't looking for anything serious or emotionally taxing at the moment, at least not with him. And neither was he, if he was being really honest with himself. Despite what he was sure Wilson would have loved to insist, he didn't have any real feelings for Cuddy. He wasn't interested in dating her. It was just as he'd said to her earlier; they were adults, they needed to find a way to relieve their stress, and they were good together. Very good. It didn't have to go any deeper than that.

So he really hoped she'd accept. Because while he was being honest, he might as well admit, he thought, that it was some of the best sex he'd ever had. And he was sure she felt the same way.

And the lack of sleep…that was just his leg acting up. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Not that it was acting up more than usual.

Not like it would matter if it was. His leg wasn't his conscience, no matter what Wilson or anyone else said.

He rubbed his temples, realizing that he was coming dangerously close to over thinking things…again.

He rummaged through the medicine cabinet and found the nearly empty bottle of Vicodin there, swallowing down a couple of pills and moving slowly to the kitchen as he waited for them to kick in. He gulped down a class of room-temperature water from the tap and then sat at the piano. The ivory and ebony keys stared up at him, waiting expectantly for him to let some melody flow from his fingertips, but none came. The barometric pressure was wreaking havoc on his joints and he didn't feel much like playing. He just derived some sense of comfort from sitting at the instrument, knowing that he could make it sing if he wanted to.

He looked over at the clock on the bookshelf. 4:49. It was still dark outside, and it looked like rain. He leaned his forehead on his palm, elbow pressing against the worn wood of the piano. His eyes slid closed as the narcotics began to dull his leg pain as well as the headache that had been brewing behind his skull. As unattainable as sleep had seemed before, he found himself drifting off in moments.

* * *

><p>He didn't usually dream much when he dozed off right after taking Vicodin. When he did, they were foggy, blurry, never vivid or colorful or so lifelike. He felt a rather odd combination of sensations, knowing he was dreaming, but not really much caring. It felt real enough, so why ruin it? Why overanalyze it?<p>

He ran his hand down across Cuddy's bare back and sighed deeply, contentedly, letting out a groan of appreciation as she pressed her lips and teeth against his neck. She shifted above him, tiny sensual bolts of electricity sparking across the surface of his skin wherever their bodies touched. He jerked his hips and captured her mouth, swallowing her long moan, tangling his fingers in her hair, slipping his tongue between her lips and tasting her. Tea leaves and cherries. Nobody else would ever understand that taste, and he didn't much feel like trying to explain it.

His name fell from her throat, breathless and needy, and he gripped her hips, flipping her over and hovering above her, needing to possess her and fill her and make her remember who she was with and whose name she'd just gasped in pleasure. Her hair was splayed out around her head like a dark halo, her eyes open, staring up at him. He leaned down to take her lips again, but instead met the bridge of her nose. She laughed lightly, the sound dissolving into a libidinous sigh as she wrapped her arms around his neck and arched her back, pressing her body to his again. She brought her mouth to his ear and whispered his name again, and he let his eyes slide closed, a shiver running down his spine.

He woke up with a jerk, hand coming down and banging several keys on the piano, filling his apartment with a few echoing chords. Taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly, he ran his hand across his temples. His back hurt and his leg throbbed, and he was pretty sure he could feel that headache creeping up again. He allowed himself one spared glance back at the clock once more, not quite able to make out the exact time, but knowing one thing for sure: he was late.

* * *

><p>She considered stopping by his apartment on her way to work, but scrapped the idea quickly. Though she was sure he wouldn't have left yet (he very well could have still been asleep), it wasn't the right time to bring up such a subject. And she certainly wasn't going to do so at work. The only problem was, she thought, that if she waited too long, she could very well think about it too much and lose her nerve. Maybe that would be a good thing, she wondered. After all, what was she thinking even considering doing something so-<p>

She shook her head. She had to make a decision and stick with it. No flip-flopping for the sake of avoiding commitment this time. They could handle it. They could keep it separate from their work life; things didn't have to interfere. And he did have a point; she did need a break from her stress. And he could definitely deliver that. No, that wasn't the problem. No, this could work. She could make it work.

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and tried to convince herself that was really true.

* * *

><p>Cuddy should have known what the envelope on her desk meant the moment she saw it. All things considered, it made perfect sense. She'd been wondering why the nurses had been sending her tentative looks on her way in. Still, the moment her manicured nails ripped into the paper and she saw she fine print and harsh, looping signatures in the corner, though it came as no surprise, her stomach clenched in apprehension.<p>

So it seemed only fitting that there should be a knock on her office door at that very moment.

She put down the document and pushed it out of sight, calling for the figure looming on the other side of her door to come in and hoping to high heaven that it wasn't who she thought it might be. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she saw that it was not the man who had invaded her thoughts so stubbornly, but instead that man's best friend.

"Morning," he greeted, and Cuddy smiled, though it was a tired one. There was something on his mind, something that he wanted to say to her, and she couldn't help but get a sinking feeling that it had something to do with the girl who had jumped a few days prior.

"Haven't seen you for a while," she commented off-handedly.

"I've been around," he shrugged. "To be honest, this whole business with that girl on the roof kind of threw me for a loop…" There it was.

"You and everyone else in this hospital…" she sighed, looking away from him to wake up her laptop and log in.

"And you're…okay?" he asked, somewhat tentatively. She fought the urge to rub her temples. She did appreciate the fact that he was worried about her; he was just being a good friend, after all, but if she was really honest with herself, she didn't much feel like dealing with his mothering persona at the moment.

"I'm fine," she assured him, her voice tight and exhausted. He nodded, sensing that she didn't much want to talk.

"Good…I don't mean to act like a mother hen or anything. Just wanted to make sure…" He trailed off, and Cuddy found herself smiling a bit at his "mother hen" comment, something that seemed to relieve the tension in the room to a certain degree. Then silence descended on them again and the tension was back within moments. Wilson nodded somewhat awkwardly and moved to leave, but Cuddy found herself speaking again, needing to get something off her chest.

"Her father is suing the hospital." The words forced themselves out of her throat before she could stop them, as if the pressure that had been building up for days, the secrets that she was trying so hard to keep were pushing everything toward the surface. Wilson cocked one eyebrow.

"The born-again Christian preacher?"

"Reverend Mendel."

"That's the one."

"Yup." He let out an almost impressed-sounding sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "He works quickly..."

"Apparently holy men have excellent on-call lawyers."

"Do you think he has anything?" Wilson asked.

"I don't know…" Cuddy admitted, slouching in her seat. "It was a suicide, so I doubt he can get anything from a malpractice suit, but I know they're going to bring up why the door to the roof wasn't locked…"

"Right, because the only thing stopping me from throwing myself off the roof right now is a locked door…" Cuddy sent him a disapproving glance and Wilson suddenly seemed shocked by his own words. "Wow…I've been spending too much time around House…" he mused. Cuddy allowed herself a small smile.

"Anyway…" she sighed. "I guess I should have seen this coming. We'll survive it, whatever happens."

"That's a good attitude," Wilson complimented.

"Thanks," she replied softly. "As long as he doesn't quote Revelations in the court room or anything I think we'll be fine."

"Revelation," he corrected, and she looked up at him, puzzled. Wilson shrugged, then explained, "It's one of House's favorite books…"

"Of course it is…"

* * *

><p>She found herself on the roof again. Well, maybe "again" wasn't the right word. She hadn't been up here in ages. But as she looked down (from a safe distance back, she would add) at the parking lot below, considering the view that Charlotte must have had that night, her heart twisted uneasily in her chest. She remembered the dream she'd had the night before, remembered the roiling emotions and fear and hopelessness that she had experienced, and she felt a bit sick. She clutched the envelope in her hand; she wasn't quite sure what had made her bring it up here with her. She supposed she'd just forgotten she'd been holding it.<p>

The door behind her opened (of _course_ it still hadn't been locked) and she turned. And who else was standing there but the man of the hour himself? He approached slowly, and Cuddy took the opportunity to check the time.

"You're late," she quipped. He shrugged.

"You gonna fire me?" Cuddy pursed her lips and looked away from him, shifting her gaze to the horizon and avoiding the asphalt below.

"You know my offer still stands," he reminded her, and she let out a humorless laugh.

"Of course it does...And how would that work, House? We just show up at each other's doors whenever we're feeling..._stressed?_"

"Well…might be best if you call ahead. I would like to know if I need to DVR Doctor Who."

"And then just right back to work the next day like nothing ever happened?"

"Now you're getting it," he announced exuberantly. "Not a problem."

"Says you. It's never just sex…"

"Could be."

"What makes you so sure?" She narrowed her eyes at him, and he thought for a moment.

"I happen to have been gifted with the ability to not have to believe everything has _meaning_. Then again, I also happen to have been gifted with a Y-chromosome."

"You think because I'm a woman I can't separate the emotional and the physical?" Cuddy scoffed.

"Your words, not mine." She looked away from him with a huff and leaned against the half-wall enclosing the roof.

"And what do we do if things...go deeper?" she asked after a pause, sending him a warning look that told him he was not to make any jokes about her wording. He took the hint and shrugged.

"We break it off. Nobody has to know."

"You're not exactly the best at keeping secrets, House," she pointed out a few moments later.

"Says who? I'm as quiet as a church mouse." She shot a rather obvious glance at his cane. "Okay…a church mouse with a pronounced limp."

"I don't want this becoming a scandal."

"Well it _is_ pretty scandalous. The Dean of Medicine sleeping with her most notorious employee…It would be the story of the century!"

"One that I don't want getting out, thank you very much."

"Weird…"

"What?"

"Just thought a good, rule-abiding woman like you would want to run to the highest authority with the news…"

"I don't go bragging about my sex life to my bosses, House."

"Isn't there some protocol about relationships in the hospital?"

"Since when do you follow protocol?"

"Since when do you not?"

"If this _were_ a relationship, I would have to report it to HR, but since it's obviously not…" She leaned against the wall, watching him expectantly. He smirked.

"You realize…" he growled. "That you've started talking about this like we've decided on something."

"Maybe we have…" she found herself saying, and god, there was more flirtatiousness in her voice than she cared to admit. His smirk grew tenfold.

"In that case…why don't you come over tonight?" he offered.

"Before we…do anything," she interrupted. "I think we should lay down some…ground rules?" House sighed theatrically.

"No sex in the hospital, no bragging about our sex life, no handcuffs…That kind of thing?"

"Well you got the first two right." She couldn't help but smirk inwardly at the double-take she earned from House then, and she chastised herself both for letting herself get caught up in this and for flirting at work. "I shouldn't be even thinking about this…I really shouldn't. But I…" She smiled a bit, surprising even herself. House merely smirked.

"I _am _pretty irresistible."


	5. A Touch of Domesticity

**Hello again, people! Not even a week since I last updated and I'm back with another chapter! Huzzah! ^^ Maybe it's because we're getting into some of the fun stuff now...Meaning more fun to write, and (hopefully) more fun to read too. :P**

**I'm going to take a moment to say that I know absolutely nothing about legal practices and so on, so what I mentioned in this chapter about those subjects could be completely wrong when it comes to time and protocol. I apologize if I tick off any lawyers out there, but I never claimed to have passed the bar exam. **

**And I know I've said this before, but please, everyone follow me on Twitter. I post links to entertaining YouTube videos. Everyone likes that, right? XD **

**Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White. This chapter deals with suicide and is not for the faint of heart. The views expressed in this story do not reflect my views on any religion or belief system and are not meant to offend anyone. I claim no ownership of any of the movies mentioned in this chapter.**

* * *

><p><strong>A Touch of Domesticity<strong>

Cuddy was alone when she woke up, and the fact did not surprise her in the slightest. She rolled onto her back with a groggy sigh, brushing her unruly hair from her face and rubbing her eyes. Sun streaked through the window, spilling over her and making her eyes hurt as they adjusted to the morning light.

It had been nearly a week since she'd given in to temptation and taken House up on his offer, and so far things were going far smoother than she ever could have expected. They'd already worked out a routine of sorts. They'd been together nearly every night, and since that night she'd gone to his apartment one week prior, it had always been at her house. It was easier that way, and also for simplicity's sake, he was always gone in the morning.

It didn't bother her. They were, after all, only interested in what went on at night. Domesticity was not part of the deal.

Thoughts of the reverend and of the lawsuit that loomed threateningly over the horizon lingered in her mind, but those stresses were kept at a satisfying arm's length thanks to all the "stress relief" that House had been providing for her. Maybe it was reckless, she admitted, but it was certainly working as well as she'd hoped.

She sipped her coffee, feeling almost inappropriately giddy despite what she knew was waiting for her at work. The thought of it caused a pang of dread to shoot through her abdomen, but it, like so much else, was wonderfully dulled.

For the first time in weeks, she went to her car with a smile on her face.

* * *

><p>That smile began to falter as she approached the doors of hospital and the reality of what she was approaching started to sink in. Her stomach began to twist on itself as she became more nervous with each step. She wasn't quite sure what it was that was making her so anxious; it wasn't like this was brand new territory before. She had dealt with plenty of lawsuits before. Why was this any different?<p>

Still, Cuddy was determined not to let her nerves show as she stepped through the front doors, immediately hearing the hum and buzz of the hospital waking up around her. And then there was another sound, one that surprised her: the unmistakable uneven gate of a certain man walking with a cane.

"'Morning!" he greeted cheerfully, coming up behind her. She turned, unable to mask her shock.

"You're on time," she remarked, eyebrows shooting up. She glanced at the clock. "You're…_early!_"

"I was in a surprisingly good mood this morning," he quipped. She sent him a warning look, one that said he was treading on thin ice. Nobody else seemed to think his comments were anything out of the ordinary, however, and not a single head turned in their direction. She never thought she'd see the day when she would be thankful for House's reputation around the hospital. He nudged her.

"Something tells me you are too…" Her gaze turned harsher, and she pursed her lips.

"Would you be in a good enough mood to actually do your clinic duty today?" He stared at her in sarcastic shock.

"I said I was in a good mood, not out of my mind." Cuddy had to fight back a smile, trying to cover it with a hard, authoritative gaze. He smirked.

"Go. Obey."

"Yes, boss," he snarked.

* * *

><p>She took a deep, steadying breath, getting ready to open the doors of her office and face the inevitable. The moment she placed her hand on the door handle, a cold feeling of dread settled itself in her stomach, but she pressed onward. This was something that had to be done.<p>

* * *

><p>House caught himself whistling as he sauntered off the elevator. He spotted Wilson out of the corner of his eye and smirked at the oncologist's expression: eyebrows raised, biting the inside of his cheek in shock at his friend's positively cheery disposition.<p>

"Dr. Gregory House on time and whistling while he works," Wilson quipped as he walked alongside House. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"What? I'm not allowed to be in a good mood?"

"You certainly are, but that doesn't make it any less creepy." House merely shot him a beaming smile, and Wilson winced. "I think I might have nightmares…"

"Hm…" House hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe I should ditch the scowl and grin at everyone instead. Might make me even more imposing."

"How much Vicodin have you taken this morning?"

"That's a little personal, don't you think?"

"You're only this happy when you're stoned, House. I'm sure you can man up and admit that."

"Drugs don't make me happy. They make me neutral."

"So what's giving you this extra…kick?"

"Well…there is one possibility," House said as he pushed open the door of his office.

"Invasion of the body snatchers?"

"Okay, _two _possibilities."

"And the second would be…?"

"That I haven't exactly been going home alone…" Wilson grimaced.

"I don't need to know about your history with hookers right at this moment, House."

"Who said anything about a hooker?" House asked, feigning hurt.

"Fine. 'Lady of the night' if you prefer." House merely smirked and threw his backpack on the floor before sitting down at his desk and pretending to ignore Wilson as he waited for the oncologist to piece things together. Finally, Wilson's eyebrows shot up in disbelief."

"Are you…" He paused, hesitant, it seemed, to venture such a seemingly impossible question. "No…Are you…seeing someone?"

"It would explain a lot, wouldn't it?"

"But…who?" House shrugged the question off.

"Oh come on. You're not interested in my boring personal life, are you?"

"Do I know her? It is a 'her', right?" House tried not to laugh as Wilson became more and more flustered. "Not that I wouldn't…I mean, I'm not gonna judge or anything, but…you're not…"

"His name is Alfonso," House quipped. But even he couldn't keep a straight enough face to convince Wilson, and his friend's shoulders slumped. Still, there was the tiniest tinge of a smile on his face that he couldn't hide from House's sharp eyes.

"House…seriously. Who is it?"

"It's nobody." House focused his attention on his computer screen as he pretended to check his email.

"Someone from work?"

"Everyone within a five-mile radius of this hospital hates me," House was quick to point out.

"Well…not everyone…" Suddenly, Wilson's eyes widened in realization. "Are you…are you seeing…Cuddy?" The two men locked eyes for a moment before House scoffed.

"Yeah," he proclaimed loudly and sarcastically. "I'm banging my boss to get out of clinic duty." Wilson rolled his eyes.

"I think it's great, House. You and Cuddy…you're good for each other."

"In case you didn't pick up on it…that was sarcasm, Wilson. And don't give me that all-knowing smile, will you? It's obnoxious."

"How long as this been going on?"

"Remind me never to use sarcasm on you again."

"Well if it's not Cuddy, then who-"

"I told you. It's _nobody._ You wouldn't be interested."

"I _am_ interested."

"You're always getting on my case for prying into peoples' personal lives, but when you do it, it's perfectly fine…"

"House…" Wilson leaned on House's desk, lowering his tone to one that was full of caring and pride and other nauseating emotions that House would have much preferred to avoid if possible. "This is good. You…being with someone…it's good."

"Yeah, yeah…keep talking like that and you're not gonna be invited to the wedding." He saw something coming dangerously close to shock flitting through Wilson's eyes, and he leaned back in exasperation. "_Sarcasm, _Wilson! Geez…" Wilson rolled his eyes before heading out of House's office, carefully hiding a knowing smile until he was out of his friend's line of sight.

* * *

><p>"$75,000." The minute the number came from the lawyers lips, Cuddy couldn't help but raise her eyebrows in surprise. "That is, of course, to cover the cost of Charlotte Mendel's hospital stays as well as emotional pain and suffering of behalf of her parents." The reverend himself merely sat back and watched her as his lawyer handed her the documents important to the case. Cuddy looked them over and sighed.<p>

"Well I guess I have to compliment your…promptness on the matter," she said somewhat bitterly. "It really is quite impressive…" The lawyer allowed himself a very small smile, one that disappeared in a matter of moments.

"Obviously we're willing to settle outside of court," said the man, straightening his tie and adding enough fake sweetness to his words to make Cuddy's teeth ache. "I believe it would be best for both parties, all things considered."

"Of course…" Cuddy replied. Then she took a breath, turning and addressing the reverend himself, who had yet to say a single word on the matter. "Reverend Mendel…I understand this is a hard time for you-"

"You understand?" he asked coldly, and he scoffed. "Do you have children, Dr. Cuddy?" She knew where this was going, and she began to regret bringing the topic up in such a way. She straightened up in her seat, determined to retain her dignity no matter what.

"No, I don't."

"Well then you can't even begin to understand." She averted her gaze, and as much as it pained her, she had to admit that he did have a point. She said things like "I understand" and "I know what you're feeling" so often that the words seemed to lose all meaning. It wasn't often that she really did understand what a patient or family members were going through, and she supposed that this was one of those times when true empathy was impossible.

"I don't want to take this to court, Dr. Cuddy," the lawyer cut in. "And neither does my client, if I may speak on his behalf. But we are prepared to do so if necessary. I hope that won't be the case."

"I hope so too," Cuddy said, finding that she was speaking to herself more than to them.

* * *

><p>House looked anything but professional when his office door opened again, but then again, that was nothing particularly new; his feet were propped on his desk as he watched his favorite show on his miniature television, a bag of corn chips in his hand. For a moment, he thought it was Wilson, and he was ready to roll his eyes and explain the word "sarcasm" for the millionth time, but a glance upward proved him wrong.<p>

"Doctor House?" the woman asked. She was tall, dark-skinned and had a look on her face that said that she would not be quick to irritation, even going up against him.

"Who wants to know?" he asked, barely sparing a moment before returning his attention back to his TV.

"I'm Linda Talbot. From Human Resources?" House cocked an eyebrow.

"You new? Because I happen to be pretty well-acquainted with HR, and I've never seen you around before."

"I've been told," Linda said with a knowing smirk. "I specialize in a very specific area of human resources. Namely the emotional well-being of the employees-"

"Oh god…" House griped. "You're here about that girl who jumped, aren't you?"

"We want to make sure all of our staff are emotionally stable enough to continue working efficiently."

"I'm so glad you're here…" House said, working up some sarcastic tears. "I've been an emotional wreck all week…I think I need a month's paid vacation to cope…" Linda raised one eyebrow.

"This is just policy. It'll be over as soon as you let it." House sighed.

"I'm fine," he relented, still engrossed in his TV show. "Look at me. Not depressed, not tearing up, not emotionally damaged in any way. Well…not that has anything to do with what happened last week, anyway…"

"I think I get the picture…" Linda said, turning to leave him be.

"Hey." He could almost feel her roll her eyes as she turned toward him again.

"Yes?"

"You 'interviewing' everyone in the hospital?"

"Not personally, but yes. We're…checking up on everyone."

"Including Cuddy?"

"I'm afraid I can't-"

"You said you were talking to all the staff. That has to include the Dean of Medicine, right?"

"Why is it of any interest to you?"

"Wow…" House smirked sarcastically. "I can see why they sent you to do me." His eyebrows furrowed. "Wait…that came out wrong. Oh well, you know what I meant, right?"

"Thank you for your time, Dr. House." Without giving him another chance to stop her, she turned and left. House watched her go, shrugged and returned to that day's episode of _Prescription Passion._

* * *

><p>Cuddy didn't want the lawyer to go. It wasn't that she liked him. No, far from it. The man was tall and thin and greasy-looking, and he slathered on false sweetness with every sentence. No, she was sick of him. But she didn't want him to leave, because that would mean that she would be alone with the reverend. And given the choice between the two of them, frankly, she preferred the lawyer.<p>

Still, she didn't voice these concerns, of course, so when the man gathered his things and left, Reverend Mendel saying that he wanted to have just a moment alone with the Dean (even against his lawyer's advice), Cuddy couldn't prevent her stomach from dropping just a bit. The door closed behind him, and the two of them were alone.

"I hope we can come to an agreement," Cuddy made herself say, trying to avoid the reverend's steely eyes.

"I want you to know, Dr. Cuddy, that I'm not interested in revenge."

"Of course not." She forced herself to sound sincere; she _was_ sincere, or at least she wanted to be.

"What I am interested in is justice. And my faith has taught me that while human justice may fail, God's is never wrong." Cuddy suddenly felt something very icy and hard in his words, something that hit her in the pit of her stomach. It was like she was being threatened. No, no that couldn't be right. He was religious, but he wasn't crazy. She pursed her lips.

"I'll do what I can to help us come to an agreement, Reverend Mendel," she said, using her most controlled authoritative tone, but at the same time, trying to convey the message that she didn't much like the way she was being spoken to. He stared her down for several long moments, making her feel uneasy, and then he turned and left, without so much as another word.

* * *

><p>It was some time later when she heard another knock on her office door, and she called for the visitor to come in out of habit. It wasn't until the door began to open that she thought she might have made a mistake. What if it was the reverend again? Her heart skipped nervously, but it turned out there was no cause for alarm.<p>

"Dr. Cuddy," the woman greeted. Cuddy chastised herself for not remembering her name. "Linda," she reminded her. "From HR."

"HR…" Cuddy murmured. Her heart went back to anxiously fumbling with its rhythm. Had House done something? Worse, had he _said_ something? "What's House done?" she found herself asking. Linda smiled.

"Nothing," she assured Cuddy. "I'm just finishing up my follow-ups. Just like you asked, Dr. Cuddy."

"Right…" Cuddy again gave herself a mental smack on the forehead for her lapse in memory. "And you're here to let me know the results?"

"No, actually I'm here to speak to you."

"You mean about Charlotte?" Even now the name caused Cuddy's chest to ache.

"Yes. I know you oversaw her treatment, right?"

"That's right."

"I just need to make sure you're…well…alright." She offered a kind smile. "Make sure this hasn't affected you too deeply." Oh, it had. If only this woman knew how it had. But of course, Cuddy wasn't about to bring that up now.

"I'm fine," she assured her, and she realized too late how tired and short her voice sounded. To soften the unintentional blow, she added, "and thank you. For doing this."

"Just following orders, Dr. Cuddy," Linda smiled. Cuddy attempted to return the favor, but it came out looking lopsided and forced, she was sure. "And I'll get the report to you soon. So far it seems like everyone is doing just fine. Only a few people have needed additional follow-up meetings. Nobody's been too difficult about it…well, except for Dr. House…"

"You spoke to House?"

"Earlier today, yes. It was weird…he seemed really curious about whether or not I'd come to talk to you as well…"

"I hope he didn't give you too hard a time," Cuddy said, trying to veer the subject of the conversation away from anything linking her and House in the same thought.

"No…just House being House," Linda said. "If what I've heard about him is true."

"Oh, believe me, it is." Immediately, her breathing hitched when she realized just how..._suggestive_ her tone had been when she'd said those words. Linda, if she noticed, didn't bat an eye at it.

"Right, well…thank you, Dr. Cuddy."

"You're very welcome," Cuddy forced out. The moment Linda was gone, Cuddy leaned on her desk and rubbed her eyes until she saw spots.

And then she took out her phone and sent a text message to House. She needed to see him. Tonight.

* * *

><p>The moment Cuddy opened her front door, she saw House standing there looking as cocky as ever. "Evenin', missy," he said, doing his best Western impersonation. It would have made Cuddy smile if she hadn't been so exhausted.<p>

"Come in," she bid him, and he was quick to comply. Cuddy shut the door behind him, cutting off the draft that had been blowing in and rubbing her arms.

"Got your text," he said, taking off his jacket. Cuddy watched him, observing the way his muscles flexed under his T-shirt as he shrugged off the outer layer of clothing. Such ludicrously immature thoughts, she chastised. But they came, unbidden, all the same. And House, never one to waste time, went straight for the point, turning and bringing a hand to her shoulder.

"Need some stress relief, I'm guessing?" he asked, leaning in to nip at her neck. But she did something unexpected, then. She pushed him away. It was clearly not something that House had foreseen, and he looked at her quizzically.

"Just wait a minute," she said.

"What?" House asked impatiently.

"I…" She paused. Was this really as idiotic as she was sure it was going to sound? "I got a movie."

"A movie? You want to watch a movie?"

"Yes."

"With me."

"Yes."

"Don't you think that's a little…domestic?"

"What?"

"You remember the terms of our arrangement, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Cuddy scoffed. "It's a movie, not a marriage proposal. It's not like we need to get all emotionally invested in a few hours on the couch…"

"I know what we _could_ do with a few hours on the couch. And I guarantee it would be better than any stupid movie." He placed his hand on her hip as he spoke, a gesture that at one time would have gotten him nothing but a slap across the face. Now she merely hid a smirk and rolled her eyes.

"We'll get to that. Later. I haven't forgotten what this is, House. You're not so desperate that you can't wait a few hours, are you?"

"As long as it's not going to make you cry. If you're going to be bawling all over the place I think I'll just go home." He paused, then seemed to think of something that made him grimace. "Oh god, you didn't get _Marley and Me_, did you?"

"It's _Inception_. Not exactly a tear-jerker."

"You've never seen _Inception_?"

"No, that's why I rented it! Now come on…" She led him to the den, and he trudged along behind her.

"You know this movie is like two and a half hours long, right?" he whined.

"Yeah…and maybe you can beat that time later tonight."

* * *

><p>One-hundred and forty-eight minutes later, House was back to nibbling at Cuddy's neck as they stumbled toward her bed.<p>

"Longest movie ever…" House growled impatiently, hastily working to unbutton her cardigan.

"Do you think his totem stopped spinning?" Cuddy suddenly asked.

"What?"

"At the end. Do you think-" House rolled his eyes magnificently.

"Can you speculate about the end of the movie and the meaning of life later? Preferably post-coitus?"

"It's just…thought-provoking is all."

"Yeah…well then I'll just have to be a little _more_ thought-provoking." He resumed his lips' lustful dance, and she couldn't help but sigh.

"Thank you," she said.

"No problem. I'm always ready and willing to get up close and personal with your neck…or any other part of your anatomy for that matter."

"No, I didn't mean for this…although, believe me…I need this too…" She let out a small moan as House's mouth moved down toward her collarbone. "I meant for the movie. I needed that…a nice night in…I hope it wasn't too 'domestic' for you." He pulled back, staring down at her.

"It's no problem," he said. He paused, and they both sensed that they were coming dangerously close to having a "moment." So House spoke again: "You should come over to my place some evening. We could watch _V for Vendetta._"

"Oh, I love that movie…" He arched an eyebrow.

"You've seen it?"

"Only about twenty times…" She furrowed her brows, doing her best impression of the masked vigilante known as V: "People should not be afraid of their government. The government should be afraid of their people." House grinned, a somewhat impressed-sounding growl escaping his throat before he brought his mouth to her skin again.


	6. Pizza and Pepper Spray

**I was originally going to try and update this sooner, but I got my wisdom teeth out this week and it made it a bit hard to concentrate. XD Some important stuff happens in this chapter. Some fluff, some angst...a lot of angst...The ending may be a bit hard to swallow, but hang in there for the next chapter! XP**

**Spinach plus mushroom plus cheese equals yum. :D**

******Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White. The views expressed in this story do not reflect my views on any religion or belief system and are not meant to offend anyone.******

* * *

><p><strong>Pizza and Pepper Spray<strong>

The first thing Cuddy noticed when she trudged into the foyer was the smell of pizza. It was unmistakable, and she quirked an eyebrow as she closed the door behind her and dropped her things on the hall table, too exhausted to bother putting them away properly. As she turned toward the kitchen, the smell becoming more and more pronounced, her stomach began to growl. She had barely eaten a thing that day, and she realized all of a sudden that she was starving.

The box was sitting on the kitchen table, innocent and unassuming. She discreetly opened up the lid and peeked inside. Spinach and mushroom, extra cheese; her favorite. And a slice was missing.

"Figured you'd be hungry." She jumped at his words and turned to face him; he was leaning on the doorframe, licking his chops, a smear of pizza sauce hiding in the corner of his mouth. Cuddy allowed herself a tiny, tired smile.

"How did you get in?" she asked, though she already knew what his answer would be.

"Your Hide-a-key isn't that great at hiding," he quipped. "You owe me four bucks for your share of the pizza." She rolled her eyes and grabbed a plate, taking two generously-sized slices for herself and sitting down at the dining room table.

"Guess I was right…" House joked as he sat down next to her with another piece of his own. Sans plate, Cuddy noticed with a flash of fleeting irritation.

"I haven't eaten all day," she said through a mouthful of cheese, "and if you're going to make me pay up, I intend on getting my money's worth."

"I'm keeping a tab, you know," he said as she eagerly devoured the food. "The pizza's cheap compared to what the rest of the night will cost you…" She leaned forward on her elbows expectantly, flashing a cheeky grin.

"And what's that?"

"I charge by the orgasm…" Cuddy laughed.

"That's new."

"New management. Foreplay will cost you extra."

"Such hard work…" she pouted. He winked.

"But worth it."

"Believe me…" she sighed after finishing off her first slice of pizza. "After the day I've had, I'd be willing to pay up…"

"You settle your case yet?" House asked, mouth full.

"Finally. But not before almost two weeks of pure Hell…I've barely slept."

"Well…that may be partially my fault." Cuddy chuckled.

"I never thought I'd actually hear myself say this, House, but you've actually been keeping me sane."

"Either that or I've finally driven you crazy." She shot him an admiring smile, one that she thought she saw him return, despite the fact that he was in mid-bite at the time. "Guess you won't have to deal with Mr. 'Holier-than-thou' anymore then…"

"I hope not…" she sighed.

"Why should you? He's got his money, why would you ever have to deal with him again?"

"He wasn't interested in money…He said so."

"And holy men _always_ tell the truth, don't they?" She sent him a warning glance.

"I could see it in his face. The money was just a formality. He wants some kind of divine retribution…"

"He threaten you?" House asked, and Cuddy was momentarily surprised by how…concerned he sounded. She told herself she must have imagined it. It had been nearly a month since they'd begun this ride, and so far, things had gone much smoother than she had expected. He'd kept his word; it was just sex. Nothing more and nothing less. Just physical release and, as House was so fond of putting it, stress relief.

Stress relief and pizza…and the occasional movie.

But that was where it stopped.

"No," she said. She thought for a moment. "No…" She felt his eyes on her, studying her, observing her, looking for any sign that she could be hiding something.

"Then you shouldn't worry about it," he finally said.

"Yeah…"

"You done?" he asked. She looked up at him, and he gestured at her half remaining slice of pizza. "The food was just phase one. I'm really pretty excited to get on to phase two. And I'm_ really_ excited about phase three…" Despite her exhaustion, Cuddy did find herself letting through a chuckle, and she nodded, taking the plate to the kitchen and placing it on the counter before grabbing House's sleeve.

"Phase two it is," she said, and she led him down the hall.

* * *

><p>It was part of their agreement that anything even approaching the resemblance of deeper feelings on either side was reason to end this. There was no reason to have something between them that was anything more than physical. It wasn't what he wanted, and she didn't want it with him, so why bother? He hadn't even stayed the night, and neither had she. Not once. There was no point. They weren't a couple.<p>

Still, House was really having trouble gathering together the desire to get out of this wonderfully comfortable bed of hers.

It was getting on toward one-thirty, and he knew that the sooner he left, the better. Cuddy was doing that annoying thing again, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and making it really all too difficult for him to extricate himself. But as the haze of afterglow wore off, he became more and more antsy, needing to haul himself up out of bed and get back to his own apartment.

That urge to leave was nearly doubled when he glanced out the window and saw that it had begun to snow.

With an annoyed huff, he set to work disentangling himself from Cuddy's body, carefully removing her arms from around his neck and letting her get settled on her side of the bed so he could get up without disturbing her. But when he tried to replace his torso with a pillow to hasten things along, she apparently decided somewhere in her subconscious that the soft down was no substitute for his rugged frame, and she locked her arms around him again.

He growled irately. He'd have to start the process all over again. He'd be lucky, he mused, if he ever got out of this bedroom before he was snowed in.

She breathed against his neck, and he looked down at her, and suddenly, he had a terrifying realization.

He liked it.

He _liked_ the feeling of her arms wrapped so tightly around him, of her body wordlessly saying that she didn't want him to go, _pleading_ for him to stay. He_ liked _the sensation of her breath on his neck, of her nose rubbing against the skin of his shoulder. He_ liked_ being close to her in a way far more intimate than just sex. _He liked it_.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Heart leaping frantically, he pushed her away, not caring if he woke her or not, and searched for his clothes. He dressed in a hurry and grabbed his cane, heading out of the house as quickly as he could, limping out into the snow. He just needed to get away. He needed to stop his mind from reeling, stop his heart from pounding like it was. He needed to get away from _her._

* * *

><p>House sat down at Wilson's desk and waited. Wilson merely stared, phone hovering a few inches from his ear, sitting in silence. Finally, just as he was about to break it, House beat him to the punch.<p>

"I'm sleeping with Cuddy."

Wilson's jaw dropped.

"You're…you're kidding."

"Nope…" House said, twirling his cane in his hands.

"You're serious?"

"Kinda thought you'd get that from the 'not kidding' part."

"When?"

"Most nights…usually at her place…_usually_ on a bed-"

"I meant…when did it start," Wilson corrected, trying and failing to chase several less-than-welcome mental images from his mind.

"Oh…almost a month ago."

"A month? You've been sleeping with Cuddy for a month, and you-" Suddenly, something seemed to dawn on him. "I was right."

"About?"

"That day I came to see you in your office. You told me you were seeing someone, and I…" He leaned back in his chair with a huge triumphant grin. "I was _right!_"

"Yeah, yeah…" House said, motioning for Wilson to get on with the point already. The last thing he wanted was to be forced to endure Wilson's "I was right" dance at the moment.

"So why are you telling me now?" Wilson asked, suddenly seeming intrigued and somewhat worried by House's willingness to reveal such a secret to him out of nowhere. House looked away, nervously toying with his fingers.

"We're not dating," he was quick to clarify. "It's just sex…we don't go out to dinner, we don't even spend the night."

"You're just…friends with benefits?"

"More like co-workers with benefits, really," House said.

"So…you came here to…gloat?"

"No." Wilson had to admit that the fervor with which House denied the accusation surprised him.

"I wouldn't put it past you," he defended. "Why _are_ you telling me?" Again, House averted his gaze. "Is it…turning into something more than just sex?"

"No…"

"You don't sound too sure."

"She doesn't want that."

"But _you_ do." The disbelief in Wilson's voice did put House off a bit. The oncologist's eyes widened considerably with the realization. "You have feelings for her!"

"I don't."

"You come to me when you're trying to avoid emotional confrontation, House. This wasn't supposed to turn into anything other than just casual, but suddenly you have feelings for her that you can't explain away and you're scared that she won't feel the same way you do."

"_No._"

"Then what?"

"I don't _know._" Wilson fell silent, and House ran his hand uncomfortably through his hair. "I don't know…what I feel for her."

"What do you want, House? Advice?" House said nothing, and Wilson pursed his lips. Always too proud to ask outright, of course, he mused. "Fine…tell her."

"Or I break it off…"

"Did you hear me?"

"No. I tend to tune out crazy ideas."

"It's not crazy!" Wilson huffed in annoyance and leaned toward House, resting on his forearms. "This is good for you. You two…you're _good_ together. Quit trying to sabotage yourself and actually _try_ to be happy for once!" House sat in silence for a long moment, and Wilson hoped that he was considering his voice.

Unfortunately, it seemed he wasn't hoping hard enough, and House stood, eyes darkening slightly as he said, "I'm ending it…" and stalked toward the door.

"House, don't-" The door slammed shut behind him, and Wilson let his hand fall exhaustedly on his desk. Would that man ever actually take the advice he gave him? He answered his own question just moments later: not likely.

* * *

><p>House was avoiding her. She was sure that he thought she hadn't noticed, but she had. Oh, she had. Something was bothering him; that much was clear, and she wondered whether he'd be coming to her house that night. Maybe it was selfish of her to be thinking that way, but she couldn't help it. She was used to the routine. Perhaps that was just a nicer way of saying she was quickly developing what could only be classified as an addiction to the man.<p>

Still, whatever her reasons, it didn't change the fact that she was unhappy about his avoiding her, which he clearly was. He would undoubtedly deflect if she approached him directly, never the type to open up and talk to her or anyone else about his problems, whatever they may be. But it was unlikely that this would do anything but fester should she leave it alone.

Her day dragged on slowly, and she told herself over and over that she would find some time soon to go and talk to House about whatever it was that was causing him to be so distant. But every time she found an opening in her schedule, she just as quickly found an excuse not to go to him. And before she knew it, the sun was setting, and she was heading out to her car in the parking garage without having said more than two words to the man in the course of the day. She considered sending him a text, inviting him over that night - Lord knew she needed a break from the stress - but she decided against it. Why, she wasn't entirely sure herself. In the end, she decided it wouldn't do any good to dwell on such things, and she made her way out to the car.

She'd always found the parking garage to be a bit eerie at twilight. After all, it was dark and secluded and reminded her of a dank, foreboding cave. The way her steps echoed around her made her feel uneasy, and she always found herself walking at a slightly faster pace from the elevator to her car.

But as she walked, listening to the sound of her footfalls echoing off of the walls, she heard something else there as well, and she paused. Just imagining things, she decided. Nothing scary here. Nothing to worry about. She swallowed back her paranoia and continued on.

There it was again.

This time, she stopped dead and turned around, scanning the parking garage for anything out of the ordinary. She found no sign of movement, nothing strange lurking in the shadows. Her car was not far, and she was determined not to run, but something twisted uncomfortably in her stomach, and all she wanted was to get out of that dungeon as soon as she could.

When she turned back toward her car, she met a pair of steely gray eyes, intense, hard, and all too familiar. She jumped, feeling the urge now more than ever to sprint away, but not wanting to do so without just cause. So she suppressed her deeper instincts and tried to steady her voice as she made her uneasiness clear.

"Reverend Mendel…" she breathed, putting a hand over her heart and unconsciously taking several steps back. "You scared me…What are you doing here?" He made no attempt to move toward her, nor did his expression change from its unwavering, cold appearance.

"Doctor Cuddy…" he greeted roughly, and Cuddy noted an odd sort of drawl to his voice, his consonants carrying on too long, taking up too much space while his vowels sounded off-key and stifled.

"Did you need something?" she forced herself to ask. She was scared; she was more than willing to admit that. But she told herself to stay calm. There was no need for alarm. Not yet.

"I'm glad we could settle our differences, Doctor Cuddy," he said. She nodded.

He stepped forward.

She stepped back.

"But I already told you I wasn't interested in money."

"Step back, Reverend Mendel," she commanded harshly. There was no room in her voice for compromise. Her hand inched toward her purse, searching for the pepper spray she kept there in the front pocket.

"I just wanted to ask you, Doctor Cuddy-"

"Step _back_, Reverend Mendel!"

"I just wanted to ask you if you believe in God." He paused, not moving any closer, just waiting. Watching.

"That's no business of yours," Cuddy said, her voice ice cold. Her fingers had found the pepper spray, and she was ready at any moment to use it. Still, it offered little security.

"I think it is. I'm a man of God. It's my duty to look after the souls of others."

"Not mine," she told him. He set his jaw. "And what kind of 'man of God' gets drunk and confronts women in parking lots?" Something flashed in his eyes, and he moved toward her again. Cuddy's arm lashed out, pepper spray clenched in her fingers. Her weapon was already partially drawn when she heard another voice behind her.

"_Hey!_" She turned, almost forgetting the man no more than a few inches away from her. Realizing she'd left herself vulnerable, she turned back toward him, but found he'd backed away several paces. The heavy, uneven footfalls approaching behind her peaked her interest, and she felt another body behind her, a familiar scent wafting into her nostrils, making her feel safe, protected.

"I think you're making her nervous," House hissed. Mendel glared.

"We were just talking," he claimed.

"You're done talking." House stepped forward, passing Cuddy and coming within inches of the reverend's face, pressing himself obnoxiously into his personal space. "And if you ever try and strike up a conversation with her again, I can guarantee you'll regret it."

"Are you threatening me?" Mendel asked.

"You're damn right I am." The reverend's eyes moved from House's face to Cuddy's, and she felt a shiver shoot up her spine.

"My daughter is dead," he said. His tone was heavy, and his words hit her like a slug to her chest. With that, he turned and disappeared. Cuddy found her knees felt weak, and her hand shook as she capped her pepper spray and placed it back in her bag.

"You okay?" House asked, his voice softening considerably from the venomous tone it had adopted just a few moments prior. Cuddy nodded.

"I just want to go home…" she choked out. She pushed past him, walking unsteadily to her car.

"Do you want me to-"

"No," she said. "No, I'm fine." She tried to offer a smile, but she was pretty sure it turned into something more resembling a grimace. Dropping her voice to a near whisper, she added, "Thank you…" and she saw him nod before she left him to get into her car.

* * *

><p>Cuddy felt like a paranoid mess as she walked through her house that night, checking every corner and closet for any sign that anything was amiss. But she couldn't feel secure until she knew he hadn't somehow concealed himself somewhere. She locked her doors, her windows, and left the lights on in the front room as she stood in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil on the stove.<p>

A knock on her door made her jump, and she considered not answering it, but when she peeked out a the man waiting out there in the cold, she couldn't keep him waiting. She opened the door, and she was sure she looked a mess, but she found it hard to care about that.

"Hi…" she said tiredly. House nodded.

"Wanted to make sure you got home okay…" he said.

"That's…thoughtful."

"Not really," he shrugged. "I mean, my interest in your well-being is a purely selfish one." Cuddy did manage a smile then, and it surprised even her. She moved aside, giving him a silent invitation to come in. He took it.

* * *

><p>They sat wordlessly on her sofa, Cuddy sipping tea and listening to the silence. House shifted beside her, pursing his lips like he had something that he wanted to say, but was either too scared or too self-conscious to let out.<p>

"Have you been avoiding me today?" she asked. He looked at her.

"Yes," he said. A point-blank answer for a point-blank question.

"Why?" House looked away again. "House…"

"I can't…" he said.

"What?"

"Do this anymore…"

"What do you mean?"

"I can't do this anymore," he said. Cuddy paused, trying to understand what he was saying.

"You…want to end it?" He said nothing, just broke eye contact with her again. "Why?"

"Because…"

"That's not an answer." He remained silent. "You were right…this is good. Why end it now?" No answer. "You were the one who suggested it in the first place!" She was quickly becoming angry, the emotion she'd kept bridled bubbling to the surface.

"I know…"

"So _why?_" He merely looked at her, pain reflected in his eyes. Suddenly, she realized why. She knew his reasons without him having to say a word. "You…you feel something?"

He set his jaw and looked away. Cuddy's heart pounded.

"You…want…more? _You?_"

"I don't know…"

"House…" Cuddy sighed, pressing her palm to her forehead. "We can't…I can't…"

"Why?"

"Math…"

"I almost flunked in high school."

"Pros and cons," she sighed. "The latter outweighs the former."

"So you're basing this decision on a mental Venn diagram. Great."

"You know it as well as I do. We wouldn't…work. I'm sorry, but we just wouldn't."

"So you can see the future, now?"

"No, but I can see the past." He looked away again. "House…what we have. It works. We know it works, and we know it can keep working if you just let it…"

He looked at her, finally, long and hard. His blue eyes flashed intensely, so much so that it nearly made her stagger.

"I'm sorry..." he said. That took her by surprise. "You shouldn't be alone tonight, but...I can't stay."

Then he stood.

"Don't..." she pleaded.

"G'night, Cuddy," he said, and he walked away.

"House-"

The door slammed shut.

It snowed another inch that night, and Cuddy left all the lights on. She didn't sleep.


	7. A Philosopher Called Jagger

**Well, guys, I'm heading off to college in about two weeks, so forgive me if updates become a little scarce as I adjust. I don't know how much time I'll have to write during orientation or after classes start, but hopefully I'll still be able to stay on top of things. XD Anyway, thanks for your patients. :)**

**This chapter is a little short, but it's quite important, and I think (or at least hope) that you're going to enjoy the last bit...(some of the dialogue may sound familiar if you know where to look...)**

****Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.****

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><p><strong>A Philosopher Called Jagger<strong>

As she stared out her bedroom window at the two inches of snow that covered the ground outside, Cuddy suddenly felt she was sixteen again, trying to will herself to get out of bed for school. But as much as she knew that she had to haul herself up, it was the last thing she wanted to do, and she would have much preferred to press a pillow against her ear and let the world pass her by.

She was exhausted; she hadn't slept at all the night before, despite being overwhelmingly tired, both physically and emotionally. Her muscles ached, and her eyes were dry from staring at the ceiling for six hours, holding back stubborn tears the whole time. Cuddy had pulled her share of all-nighters and missed out on plenty of much-needed rest, but nothing wreaked havoc on her sleep pattern more than a bad break-up.

No, she had to correct herself. This wasn't a break-up. It couldn't be when it had never been a relationship in the first place.

Still, that fact didn't make it hurt any less.

She felt frustrated and tired and _betrayed_, which surprised her. Why should she have reason to feel betrayed by House when he'd done nothing wrong, she wondered. It wasn't like he could help developing feelings for her…

It took her a moment to realize that she did not feel betrayed by House, but by her own heart, by her own mind for refusing to let her believe that the two of them could work out as something more. For what had to be the thousandth time that day already, she snuffed the thought process out before it had a chance to go any further. Such dangerous thoughts were not what she needed to be focusing on if she wanted to get back to functioning normally anytime soon.

Filling her lungs with chilled air, she threw the blankets off of her body and hoisted herself up out of bed, stalking to the kitchen to fix a strong cup of coffee to get her through the day.

* * *

><p>She got to her office early that morning, and judging by the side glances she got from some of the nursing staff as she made her way to her office, she must have looked like quite the sight. Normally, that would have bothered her, but as it happened, she found it hard to dwell on. She kept her gaze focused forward, coffee warming the palm of one hand as the fingers of her other gripped her purse. Ignore them. Ignore everyone. Just do your job, get through the day and don't worry about anything else.<p>

She had barely made it to her desk when she heard the door to her office fly open again, making her jump as she turned again.

"Brenda…" Cuddy breathed as the hospital's head nurse approached her. "What are you doing here?"

"You're needed in the ICU," Brenda said flatly. Cuddy sighed.

"Now? Whatever it is, it can wait. I just got in-"

"Dr. Cuddy…I think you should come now." Cuddy was surprised by Brenda's intense stare as she spoke. There was something in her eyes that told her that whatever this was, it was of vast importance. Cuddy nodded.

"Alright…" The two of them walked from Cuddy's office toward the ICU. "Can you tell me what this is about?"

"It's probably best you see for yourself." When they did reach the ICU, Brenda led Cuddy down the hall to the last room on the right, gesturing for her to look and see what had made it so imperative that she go there. Cuddy felt her stomach drop to her feet, and she was sure she paled a the sight. It couldn't be. There was just no way. The fates couldn't possibly be so cruel. And yet there he was, eyes closed, an IV in his arm, aging face covered in scratches and bruises.

Reverend Mendel.

* * *

><p>"What happened?" Cuddy asked solemnly, leaning over the nurse's station in the ICU some minutes later. Brenda shrugged, casting a glance over at the reverend's room.<p>

"He came in early this morning. Around two. Heavily intoxicated. He was hit by a car."

"Hit by a…What? How?"

"Like I said, he was drunk. Staggered out in front of it."

"He stepped in front of a car?" Cuddy repeated, sounding utterly shocked.

"Not stepped. Staggered. His BAC was .29 when he came in. He just stumbled into the road."

"What about the driver?"

"He's upstairs. The police questioned him earlier. Given Mr. Mendel's blood alcohol levels it's unlikely he'll be charged with anything." Brenda leaned over and pulled out a file. "The driver suffered a broken arm when he tried to swerve out of the way and hit a lamp post. The good reverend over there-" She bobbed her head in the direction of Mendel's room. "-was actually pretty lucky. The car clipped him and fractured his pelvis, broke some ribs. He came out of surgery a few hours ago. Could have been much worse."

"Yeah…" Cuddy mused, distracted. She stared at the man in the bed. Brenda leaned closer to her, dropping her voice down low.

"I'm sorry I brought you down here. I just thought…you should see for yourself." Cuddy broke out of her semi-trance and looked at her head of nursing staff, sincere gratitude in her eyes alongside the exhaustion.

"No. Thank you." Brenda nodded and went back to her files, hesitant to get to heavily involved with Cuddy's emotional situation. Cuddy straightened up and walked toward the exit, away from his room, not sparing another glance no matter how strong the urge to do so became.

* * *

><p>House glowered at the snow outside and dug his fingers into his leg. Aimlessly, he reached out grope around for his pills, hand finding them on his bedside table after several unsuccessful tries. He swallowed two and waited for them to take affect, sitting up on the edge of his bed.<p>

His eyes were bloodshot; he knew that even without looking in a mirror. His body felt heavy and achy and his stomach was queasy. All night he'd paced his apartment, occasionally sitting at the piano or lying in bed, but never playing a note or sleeping a wink. As the sun had risen a few hours prior, he'd watched the sky change color and wondered whether he could get away with staying home from work.

He told himself that the only thing he missed was the sex. And why shouldn't he? The sex had been good. The arrangement had been perfect, but of course he'd had to go and screw it up, just like everything else in his life. He missed the sex, but he realized with a grimace that it wasn't all.

He missed _her._

He missed feeling her breath on his neck as she slept; he missed eating dinner with her and watching her try not to laugh with her mouth full when he made an off-color joke; he missed that little smirk she gave him at work, that tiny knowing glance that passed between them when they remembered and enjoyed the fact that they knew something that nobody else in the world did.

He shook his head and stood. His leg cramped, and he stumbled, cursing as he made his way to the bathroom. With some effort, he forced himself to look in the mirror (he'd been right about his eyes being horribly bloodshot) and splashed some cool water on his face. It didn't do much good.

How he managed to will himself to get dressed was beyond him; he operated on what felt like some sort of autopilot, not really aware of what his hands were doing, but knowing they were doing it all the same. Before long he was dressed and tying his shoes without really knowing exactly how he'd gotten there, and he rubbed his face in exhaustion.

Something hard pressed against his leg as he shifted on the couch, and he looked down to inspect it, grabbing it and lifting it to eye level. The case was still covered in its thin plastic wrapping, the price tag still attached. He'd never gotten the chance to remove them.

With a sigh, he threw the DVD of _V for Vendetta_ onto the coffee table and stood, grabbing coat, cane and keys before trudging out the door.

* * *

><p>She didn't want to go back. In fact, she wanted very much to never set foot in that place again while he was there. More than that, she wished she could go home right then and forget that all of it was going on. But of course that would simply be childish, not to mention that fact that it was impossible. She was essentially stuck here, trying to keep her mind off of the fact that the man who had caused her so much grief over these past few weeks was now taking up one of her hospital beds.<p>

That said, she wasn't sure what it was that drew her back there later that morning.

She had yet to see House since the previous evening, and it would have been a lie to say that she wasn't worried about him; after all, he had bared his soul and his emotions to her and she had shot him down. She fought back a wave of guilt that poured through her at the thought, as well as the exhaustion that returned with renewed vigor. As she walked to the ICU, trying to move as slowly as she could to put it off for as long as was possible, she kept feeling the urge to scan her surroundings, to look over her shoulder for him. She didn't want to see him now, even though she knew that a conversation would have to come eventually if they ever wanted to get back to normal. Still, she never saw one glimpse of him on her way there, and she wondered as she looked at her watch and saw that it was getting close to eleven o'clock whether he was planning on coming in at all.

Cuddy was surprised to find when she entered the ICU once more that the reverend was not alone. He was still unconscious, it seemed, sedated for now, so he was not aware of the fact that his wife was by his side, holding his hand. It seemed like such a tender and loving picture, a doting wife caring for her indisposed husband, but considering the darker side of him that Cuddy had seen all too often before, she felt it difficult to see it that way.

"Mrs. Mendel?" she asked softly, and the woman sat up with a jerk. Her face was stained with tears, just like the last time Cuddy had seen her, and she wondered if there was ever a time when that was not the case.

"Dr. Cuddy," she greeted, trying and failing to smile. "It's good to see you…"

"I wish it were under better circumstances." Cuddy stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Mrs. Mendel nodded tensely, reaching out and taking her husband's hand. He looked so weak and vulnerable there in that hospital bed, so different from when she'd encountered him in the past. Here, he wasn't imposing or frightening at all; he seemed almost…harmless.

"Do you mind…?" Cuddy asked, gesturing to another chair by the bed.

"No, of course. Go right ahead." She sat and folded her hands in her lap, surveying the reverend's face, studying Mrs. Mendel's as she stared at him.

"They said he was drunk…walked into the street…" Mrs. Mendel choked.

"Not intentionally," Cuddy was quick to point out, hoping it might offer at least a tiny amount of comfort. She wasn't sure it did.

"No…" She ran her thumb over her husband's rough hand, and in the image of her fingers intertwined with his, Cuddy couldn't help but see reflected her own hand holding another's tightly. It hadn't been long ago that she had been in a similar position, nervously watching the face of the acerbic, imposing man whom she knew could offer her nothing but heartache, holding his hand in hers as she waited for him to come back to the world of the living. She blinked, and the image was gone, just a memory.

A rather long pause followed, and Cuddy was torn. She felt the urge to say something to break it, but at the same time, the silence was…comforting. She shifted forward in her hair, leaning toward the woman staring at her husband's battered face.

"Mrs. Mendel…" she began.

"Samantha," Mrs. Mendel corrected. "If you don't mind."

"Of course…Samantha…I have to ask…are you…" She turned to face Cuddy, and Cuddy was momentarily startled by the intensity of her gaze.

"I know what you want to ask, Dr. Cuddy," she said with a confidence that Cuddy had never before heard coming from her. "And I can answer you right now. The answer is no. He's never laid a hand on me." Cuddy was taken aback to say the least, and she actually leaned back in her seat, eyes wide.

"I…I wasn't…" she stammered, at a loss for words. Samantha's fervid gaze softened and she did manage a smile.

"It's alright. I understand." She turned back to the reverend, continuing to stroke his hand with her thumb. "I'm sure you're not the first person to suspect something like that. John's always been rather hard…not exactly the kind of man who's willing to let you cry on his shoulder. But I…" Tears welled in her eyes, and she paused to let them pass. She looked at Cuddy again. "He's a good man, Doctor Cuddy. Maybe not in the same way as some might picture as 'good,' but he _is_ good. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think…I do…" Cuddy admitted softly.

"I love him…" Samantha said after another long moment of silence. "People might not understand why. I'm not sure I do sometimes. But I do. I love him…" Cuddy pursed her lips, but not in disbelief. She found that her chest had begun to ache, her eyes stinging. She straightened up and forced the tears back.

"And I'm sorry about all this legal business…" she added a moment later, and Cuddy felt as if she'd snapped out of some kind of emotional trance at the words. "I was against it, but…well…he's stubborn, you know." A warm smile graced her lips again, seeming so out of place that Cuddy could barely wrap her mind around the emotions coursing through the room at the time.

"It's alright," Cuddy said, finding her voice rough and hard to manage. "Really. I understand." Samantha looked at her, gaze soft and welcoming.

"You do, don't you?" There seemed to be something in her words that ran much deeper than the lawsuit, Cuddy immediately noticed, and the very realization of that fact caused her heart to skip anxiously.

"Yes…" she found herself answering, her thoughts racing through her mind faster than she could account for them. Suddenly, something caught their attention, making both of them look up: a loud, sharp tap on the window. It came again, a few moments later, and then a third time, and Cuddy stood, walking over to the window to inspect it.

"What is that?" Samantha asked as Cuddy strained to see what was causing the noise. She couldn't make out the source above them, but somewhere deep down, she already knew.

"I think I know. If you don't mind…" She walked over to the door, opening it slowly as she looked over at Samantha and the reverend. Samantha nodded her on before turning her attention back to her husband. Cuddy slipped out the door soundlessly.

* * *

><p>House gazed over the tops of buildings from his perch on the roof, resting his cane on the wall, rearing back and letting another rock fly from his fingers. It wasn't anywhere near as good as the previous throws, and he grimaced at how out of practice he was. But of course, this wasn't a contest against anyone besides himself. He just needed to think.<p>

"You could get written up for that, you know," came a voice from behind him. He recognized it, but he didn't turn. He threw another. That one went farther than the others. She was walking up behind him until she was just a few feet from him.

"I was thinking…" she began.

"Oh fantastic," he snarked, voice dripping with sarcasm and bitterness. More than he had intended to add, actually, but he wasn't concentrating on regulating his tone; he was more concerned with bringing his arm back for another throw. She grabbed his arm, stopping him. He lowered his hand, but still didn't look at her.

"About what you said," she continued.

"About Captain Crunch being the world's best cereal? Because I meant that."

"About us."

"Oh…well, that's much less interesting, then." He brought his arm back and let another rock fly, watching as it soared in a neat arc off of the roof and into the parking lot. Cuddy seemed to decide that ignoring him was the best course of action.

"I keep going over it all in my head…all the math. It all stacks up against it. Against us. And will you look at me?" He returned the favor and ignored her right back, not even acknowledging her words as he sent two more rocks sailing across the sky.

"God, it's like talking to a twelve-year-old…I said look at me, will you?" He dropped his arms, letting the last few piece of gravel fall by his feet. With a roll of his eyes, he turned and faced her.

And then she kissed him. And quite forcefully at that.

She hooked her hand around the back of his neck, holding him there as she moved her lips against his, her other hand gripping his lapel. Her eyes were closed, and House found himself just barely letting his follow suit when she pulled away again.

"Okay…" he breathed. "You've got my attention."

"You're such an idiot," she said with a smile.

"A very kissable idiot, apparently." He paused, and she merely continued to smile, waiting for him to piece it together. "I thought you said the cons outweighed the pros.'

"I did."

"So…I take it you're ignoring that fact."

"I'm ignoring a lot of things. Common sense, my voice of reason, hospital policy…"

"And you know I love going against all of those. What made you change your mind?" She looked up at him, gaze softening, their faces still just inches apart.

"I don't know…" she confessed. "I just…I want this…" Gently, she cupped his face in her hand, as if assuring him that it was real. That _this _was real. "I wish I didn't…but I can't help it." House's smirk faded and his eyes darkened.

"You want me to change?" he asked dubiously. "You want me to try and fix myself…" She was already shaking her head before he'd even finished his sentence.

"I know you're always going to be screwed up, House. I've accepted that. And the crazy thing is I don't care. You're not what I need, House…but…you are what I want."

Moments later, his smirk was back.

"Guess Jagger isn't always right, then…" he said. Cuddy grinned widely.

"God forbid, House." And then her arms were around his neck, his hands on her waist, her fingers twisting through his hair as she pressed her lips to his.


	8. Out of Sight, Out of Mind

**Finally the next chapter is done! ^^ I enjoyed writing this. A bit of fluff to start out, but things get a bit darker at the end because I can't resist some good angst. **

**Two important notes regarding this story now: First off, I never thanked you all for helping me reach 100 reviews. Only a handful of stories of mine have ever reached that milestone, and never in so few chapters. It means so much to me that you all like what I write. So thank you, my beautiful readers. If I could hug each and every one of you, I would. :D**

**Second, I'm leaving for college in LESS THAN A WEEK, and I've decided that I don't want to spend orientation week or my first few weeks of classes stressing about getting the next chapter done. So it may take a little while longer to update while I get adjusted. That said, I won't forget about this story, so no worries. Thanks for being understanding. :)**

**(Ugh...long author's note...sorry...x.x)**

****Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White. This chapter deals with suicide and is not for the faint of heart. The views expressed in this story do not reflect my views on any religion or belief system and are not meant to offend anyone.****

* * *

><p><strong>Out of Sight, Out of Mind<strong>

Cuddy woke up in her own bed with a contented sigh, feeling more rested than she had in…she couldn't even be bothered to remember how long. It was a wonderful sensation, her body being so relaxed and her mind so at ease. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to not be wound up to the point of semi-insanity. Gently rubbing her eyes, she rolled over, and she felt her arm drape over something solid and warm. She looked and smiled.

House was lying there next to her, sprawled on his back, one hand resting on his stomach, the other hanging off of the edge of the bed. It was a strange feeling, waking up beside him and being perfectly happy to just lie there and be content, to not worry about getting up or getting to work or about what all of it meant. Softly, she caressed his chest, fingers flitting over his collarbone until he opened his eyes.

"I overslept…" he mumbled. Cuddy grinned.

"Didn't have to get up in a hurry this time," she said. He smirked and brought his arm around her, pulling her close and greedily running his fingers up across her skin. Slowly be brought his lips to her neck and drew a sigh from her throat.

"House…" she said, running her fingers through his thinning hair. "Speaking of getting up…"

"Mhmm?" he hummed, arching one eyebrow up at her suggestively. As hard as she tried not to grin at that, but she simply couldn't help it. It faded quickly, and she pursed her lips even as House continued to nuzzle her skin.

"I need to go…I'm already late…" He paused, then slumped against her and sighed. She gave him an apologetic look when he glanced up at her.

"You honestly think that's important right now?" he asked, and she was a bit taken aback by the seriousness of his tone.

"I…" He sat up, facing her, his gaze intense.

"Who's gonna care if you take a day off?"

"That's not exactly how it works, House…and all things considered, I have a lot of crap I'm going to need to work through at the office."

"He wake up, then?" House asked darkly. Cuddy rubbed her eyes, instantly knowing who he was talking about.

"He was still pretty out of it when I last heard…but he's bound to be more conscious now…"

"All the more reason for you to stay home, then." She smiled wanly.

"I can't just run away from my problems like that, House…I have to deal with it…"

"And you will…" Again, he pressed his mouth to her collarbone, muffling his words. "Tomorrow…" Even as she relaxed at his touch and ran her hands over his neck and shoulders, he sensed her tension, and he pulled back. His eyes seemed…softer somehow. She couldn't explain or analyze the look he gave her, and his tone was uncharacteristically tender when he spoke again: "If we're going to do this…we should take some time to…process. You know, just concentrate on us for a while." She let out a slow exhale, and then smiled.

"That actually…makes a lot of sense…" He smirked and kissed up her jaw to her lips. "And I'm assuming…by 'process' you mean…" She gestured downward with her eyes and bit her lip adorably. House's smirk grew.

"What else?"

* * *

><p>"Just got off the phone with Annie," Cuddy announced as she walked into the kitchen after getting off the phone with her assistant. "I'm officially stuck at home with food poisoning." She sat down at the table as she watched House flip an omelet with a flourish.<p>

"Fantastic," he said. "And I guess I should call in sick too, so…" He put on an overly dramatic grimace and gripped his stomach with one hand. "I don't think I can make it in today either." Cuddy smiled, and House smirked as he turned back to the stove. With a skillful flick of his wrist, he tipped an omelet onto a plate and placed it before her. She looked up at him, impressed and amused. He gazed down at her expectantly.

"Speaking of sick stomachs," he said as he turned around and cracked another two eggs into the frying pan, "About Reverend Creeper up at the hospital…" Cuddy sighed.

"House, do we have to talk about this now?" she asked exhaustedly. He was putting her off her breakfast.

"You ever report him?" he asked, not acknowledging her request.

"For what?"

"What do you mean 'for what'? For the other night."

"There's nothing to report…" Cuddy said, picking at her eggs. "He didn't _do_ anything."

"Yeah, because I showed up."

"My knight in shining armor." Cuddy's tone was an endearing one, but also had a somewhat bitter edge to it that she hadn't entirely meant to add. But this wasn't exactly her first choice of mealtime conversation. House arched an eyebrow at her as he flipped his omelet.

"He sure freaked you out enough, though," he pointed out.

"Yeah, well you can't report someone just for being a creep."

"You don't usually pepper spray them either."

"I didn't-"

"You would have."

"_Alright_," Cuddy snapped. She sighed. "It doesn't matter anyway…"

"How do you figure?"

"Because before too long he's going to be a long way away." House looked at her inquiringly as he sat down opposite her with his own breakfast. "They're moving to Illinois once he's recovered." At that, his eyebrows shot up in momentary surprise as he thoughtfully chewed. "Samantha…his wife told me the other day. They'd been planning the move since their daughter died, and they were going to leave as soon as the court case was settled, but then this happened, and…" She clinked her fork against the side of her plate a few times and stared down at her shredded, half-eaten omelet. "As soon as he's well enough to travel they'll be putting at least for state lines between us and them."

"Out of sight, out of mind, huh?" House hummed. Cuddy smiled, albeit tiredly.

"Hardly…"

"Still better than having him in Jersey."

"I guess." They slipped into silence, and for a time, all that could be heard was the light metallic sound of forks scraping against plates. As she rested her cheek on her palm and forced herself to eat at least a few more bites of the breakfast House had prepared for her, she surprised herself by smiling warmly.

"It's funny…" she said after a time, and House looked up expectantly. "I thought…I don't know…this would feel…different somehow."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, look at us, House!" she said with a surprised laugh. "This is big. We're really…_trying_ this. It should be cataclysmic, but we're just sitting here having breakfast like it's nothing."

"Well…we could have sex on the kitchen table if it would make you feel better."

"I'm serious, House."

"So am I." She tried to hide her smile and glare at him, but it ended up looking more adorable than intimidating. Cuddy looked down for a moment, and when she looked back up at him, there was trepidation and uncertainty in her eyes.

"Do you really…think we can do this?" she asked.

"I don't know," House mumbled back honestly.

"Okay…"

"Okay?" he repeated, surprise flashing across his features. "How is that okay with you?" She shrugged.

"It's scary. It's unknown…unknowable, but…it's also pretty damn exciting." They stared at each other for a very long moment before House broke into a wide grin.

"And it's not like we have twenty years of sexual tension to relieve either…" he said. Cuddy chuckled.

"That might take awhile, House."

"I've got time."

* * *

><p>Both House and Cuddy inwardly groaned when they heard the phone ring. Cuddy looked over at the coffee table from her place on the couch, eyes locking on to the offending piece of technology that House was choosing to so deftly ignore as his mouth trailed across her collarbone.<p>

"That's yours…" she breathed, punctuating the words with a gasp as House's teeth followed the path of his lips.

"Mmhmm…" he growled as he moved farther southward, hands skating over her stomach as he settled himself unhurriedly between her thighs. Cuddy let her head fall back on the armrest with a breathy moan, trying to tune out the incessant noise.

"Do you want me to stop?" House asked teasingly, looking up at her.

"God no…" she replied. He grinned; she gasped, and soon they'd both forgotten completely about that damn ringing phone.

* * *

><p>Awhile later, as the two of them stretched out together on the couch, limbs intertwined as they slipped into a comfortable state of afterglow, House finally reached out and picked up his phone, studying the "One missed call" alert blinking on the screen.<p>

"Who was it?" Cuddy asked groggily.

"Who do you think?" House countered. Then just as he was about to silence his phone and put it from his mind, it began to ring again, and House rolled his eyes dramatically before answering.

"Cuddy and I are naked on her couch," he announced, and Cuddy stared at him in disbelief. "So if you can make this fast, I'd really appreciate it."

"_House!_" Cuddy hissed, trying to grab the phone from him; he held it out of her reach.

"Er…uh…okay…" Wilson stammered over the phone, clearly flustered. House smirked. He loved making Wilson flustered. "I thought you said you were going to end it…"

"I did. Then she decided I'm just too sexy to resist." Cuddy's eyebrows shot up even further, despite the fact that House hadn't thought that possible, and she did her best to send a death glare his way, even if its effects were dampened by the smile she was trying to hide on her face.

"What about your…feelings?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah…about that…that's kind of why I'd really like this conversation to be over quick…"

"I meant-"

"I _know_," House enunciated. "Thing is…Cuddy and I…we're sort of together."

"Yeah, you mentioned," Wilson said, sounding less than comfortable with the situation House had described.

"No, I mean _together,_ together." There was silence on the line for a moment, and then what sounded like a surprised exhale into the receiver.

"Are you serious? You're serious, aren't you?"

"Very…did I mention we're naked?" Cuddy reached out again and finally succeeded in taking the phone from him, shooting him a warning glance as she brought it to her ear.

"Wilson," she said. "Listen, we're not naked, okay? That's just House being House."

"Close enough," House mouthed at her, watching her tug her oversized T-shirt down over her exposed thighs.

"So are you really…together?" Wilson asked somewhat cautiously. "I mean you're really doing this?"

"Yeah…" Cuddy replied, sounding a bit like she couldn't quite believe it herself. "And I know it's crazy, but…"

"No! I think it's great. You too are good for each other."

"Thanks." She smiled and rested her head on House's shoulder, barely even realizing she was doing so until she felt him running his fingers across her hip, pulling her closer to him. She put an ear to his chest, heard his heart beating beneath his sternum, and it hit her right then that this was indeed reality. She swallowed back a slight lump in her throat at the thought and hoped that Wilson was right.

"I guess I'll see you…tomorrow?" Wilson asked.

"Tomorrow," Cuddy replied, glancing up at House to send him the message that she _would_ be keeping that promise. He pouted, but remained silent.

She hung up and tossed the phone unceremoniously onto the coffee table. It tumbled onto the carpeted floor; just as well, they both thought. No more distractions.

Cuddy was looking at him with an odd sort of expression, one that was soft and deeply thoughtful; it was making him uncomfortable. He arched his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for her to speak.

"We're really doing this…" she finally breathed, lips hovering inches from his, as if she'd been leaning in to kiss him before the thought had occurred to her.

"You having second thoughts?" House asked dubiously, a shadow passing over his features.

"No," she assured him quickly. "No, I just…" She let out a breathy laugh, one of surprise and disbelief. "I think it finally hit me." He waited, not sure what to say. She smiled at him - she was beaming, really. And at that moment, something occurred to him. Suddenly he felt extremely…lucky. Odd, he thought, but he couldn't get the feeling out of his mind. He felt so incredibly, unbelievably lucky to have her smiling up at him, to have his arms around her like this, her body pressed to his. The feeling, honestly, freaked him out a bit; the strength of it left him taken aback. And through that feeling of good fortune emerged something else, something darker, something he'd known would come but that he'd been hoping in vain to avoid: the creeping fear that he would somehow find a way to screw it up and lose it all. His eyes darkened.

"What's wrong?" Cuddy asked, face falling at the sight of his somewhat pained expression.

"Nothing…" he lied. "Just my leg…" For effect, he reached down and massaged his thigh, and suddenly he realized he hadn't had any Vicodin that morning; in fact his leg hadn't been giving him much trouble until that very moment. But as soon as he turned his mind to his pain, it returned full force, and the damaged muscle ached and burned.

"You haven't taken any pills this morning," Cuddy said, scooting back off of him and letting him sit up.

"Yeah…" She stood, wordlessly asking him where they were. He glanced at her once and then focused his gaze on the corner of the room. "In my jacket. Left front pocket." She nodded and padded off to the bedroom, leaving House to massage his leg and grit his teeth. He silently cursed his mangled leg for breaking the mood.

Cuddy returned and handed him the orange prescription bottle. He opened it without looking at her and quickly swallowed two pills, finding himself wishing that she wouldn't stand there next to him, watching him as he did. He didn't want her to see, he realized; he felt almost ashamed as he capped the bottle and placed it on the coffee table. How could she know what he was, acknowledge every problem in his screwed up head and body and still accept him? Still want him? Would she regret that decision later?

"It's okay," she said, sitting next to him again and placing a hand on his shoulder. It was as if she could read his thoughts.

"You sure you're not having second thoughts?" House asked.

"Stop trying to get me to second guess myself, will you?" He wasn't. God, he wasn't. That was the last thing he wanted. She offered him a warm half-smile. "I know you've got problems, House. I've known that for a while, now." This time, he did look at her. "It doesn't mean I don't still…"

She paused, and House wondered for a moment what she had been about to say.

"…want to be with you." She waited another beat, and when he didn't reply, she pressed her lips to his to drive the point home. And there it was again, House noticed. That feeling. Like he was the luckiest man alive.

* * *

><p>"Do you want to go home?" Cuddy asked, eyes feeling heavy as she leaned against House's body and twisted her legs up with his under the sheets.<p>

"You kicking me out?"

"No," she chuckled. She reached over and grabbed his hand lightly, glancing over at the clock on the side table. "It's just getting late. I didn't know if you wanted to go. You can spend the night here if you want to."

"I want to," he said immediately, grinning. Cuddy smiled back, resting her head against his shoulder. After a full day of lazing around the house, watching movies (or rather, putting movies on and _not_ watching them), and even playing a game or two of naked Gin Rummy, Cuddy was feeling pleasantly tired. She let her eyes slide closed, not worrying or even thinking about what the next day would hold for her, for the two of them, not caring about how they would handle their workplace relationship or how she would quell the rumors that would inevitably spread around the hospital when they returned. She sighed contentedly.

"I'm getting you up early tomorrow," she said, voice soft as she quickly faded. House grumbled, sighed, and laid his head back on the pillow, closing his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Cuddy's breath growing steady and slow beside him.

* * *

><p>It was still dark when Cuddy opened her eyes again, and she felt oddly chilly. Brow furrowing in confusion, she turned over and found that House was nowhere to be seen. His jacket was still strewn over the foot of the bed, his cane resting against the bed frame, so he hadn't left. Maybe he was in the bathroom, she thought, but the light was off and there were no signs of movement coming from inside. Just as she was about to let it go and go back to sleep, she heard a faint rustling noise come from the living room, and she sat up. She slipped out of bed and put on her bathrobe, padding out into the hallway.<p>

She found him sitting hunched over on the couch, rubbing his leg. Worry stabbed at her heart; was his pain keeping him up? She wondered whether she should leave him be or approach him, knowing how edgy he could be when he was hurting badly. But her desire to comfort him won out in the end, and she carefully came up behind him.

"You alright?" she asked softly, doing her best not to startle him. He turned slowly, eyes dark and brooding, his expression unreadable. He sighed.

"No…" he said. His reply surprised her; she'd never known him to admit that something was wrong. It only served to make her more anxious, making her think there was something more going on than just his leg bothering him. As she sat beside him on the couch, she noticed his cell phone resting on the coffee table. She was just about to ask him what was going on when he spoke again:

"Kutner is dead."

"What?" Cuddy gasped, unable to comprehend what he'd just told her. "When? How?"

"Neighbor found him in his apartment. Single gunshot to the head." Her head spun with the news. A question burned in her mind, one that she wanted more than anything not to ask, but that couldn't go unanswered.

"Was it…self-inflicted?" she asked. He nodded solemnly. Cuddy began to feel slightly nauseous. "Oh god…"

"I saw him two days ago…I didn't see anything. How could I not see anything?"

"House, don't," Cuddy said. He looked at her. "You can't…blame yourself."

"I don't. But _I _should have been able to see some…symptom or-"

"Stop it," Cuddy commanded, her tone leaving no room for compromise. "If you start thinking you could have stopped it, that you failed in some way, you'll never stop. It'll eat you up inside. I know…" She realized suddenly that she was crying. Tears were flowing down her face, and she could do nothing to stop them. House's arm wrapped around her, a gesture that surprised them both, and she leaned into his touch. She cried silently. For how long, she didn't know. When the tears finally stopped, neither of them having said anything more, Cuddy sighed.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Odd that she should be asking him that when her eyes were dry and puffy from crying.

"Yeah," he lied.


	9. Words

**Er...so I'm back early? XD I had a lot more down time during orientation than I expected, so it didn't take me as long to update as I thought it would. Yay for me. :)**

**Also, I did something insane and started a Doctor Who multi-chap to write alongside this, so I'll probably be alternating updates between the two stories. If anyone is interested in Doctor Who, feel free to pop on over! XD **

**Hopefully everyone likes this chapter because I wasn't as sure of it as I'd hoped...I think it turned out pretty well in the end, though.**

**Oh, and thank you for all the college well-wishing. I'm doing quite well, thanks. ^^**

******Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.******

* * *

><p><strong>Words<strong>

"I'm not okay."

Cuddy looked up from her laptop the minute she heard those words, and immediately, her face fell in concern. She hadn't even heard her office door open, and yet there he was, leaning heavily on his cane, looking tired and worn. She stood.

"Can I help?" she asked, stepping toward him gingerly. He shook his head.

"No…I don't need you to do anything." Even though she wanted to deny that they did, his words stung her. She knew that he wasn't the kind to open up, but she supposed that she had hoped somewhere deep down that maybe he would begin to see her as someone he could trust with his emotions. That he didn't made her feel helpless.

Three days she'd spent asking him over and over if he was alright, if he needed anything, if she could do anything for him. And yes, she had felt a few times that perhaps she was being too overbearing; she was aware that House liked his space, and that wasn't a matter of trust but of his own personality. He had snapped at her once or twice, and she had taken the hint and backed off when he had, knowing that he was acting out of pain and that it was nothing personal. Still, the look in his eyes now, so full of pain almost to the point of desperation made her want more than anything for him to open up to her just this once, to tell her what was wrong and ask her for the help she was so ready to offer.

But he didn't do that.

"I just…need some time away. I need to get out of Princeton." She pursed her lips and put a tentative hand on his arm. Something flashed through his eyes: a desire to lean in to that touch, to wrap his arms around her and hold her and be held. It passed quickly.

"Okay," she said, albeit a bit reluctantly.

"You're not going to try and keep me here?" he asked. He sounded a bit surprised.

"No. If you need some time…alone. I understand. I'm here if you need me…" Her hand moved from his arm to his rough cheek, and he sighed. "…but if this is what helps you deal with things, that's okay."

"Thank you…" he mumbled. His tone was sincere, and it made Cuddy's heart ache. She nodded.

* * *

><p>Cuddy didn't see him again after that. With no case weighing on his team, he left the hospital early in the afternoon. That evening, as Cuddy was opening her front door, she felt her cell phone vibrate against her hip, and she sat down on the sofa and checked it to see one new text message from none other than House that said simply "Be back Friday."<p>

She had to admit that, as worried as she was about him, and as much as she wanted to be able to reach him, the message was comforting. Knowing that he _did _plan on coming back took a load off her mind, and while she wasn't exactly at ease with the whole situation, she found herself able to relax a bit.

Just as she was about to put her phone away and start dinner, it rang loudly. For a moment, she thought that he was him, and she was quick to answer, but it was instead Wilson on the other line, and he sounded almost panicked, though he was trying to hide it.

"Cuddy," he said breathily, like he'd been running up a flight of stairs. "Have you seen House?"

"Not since this morning," she answered truthfully. "He came to my office. What's the matter?"

"I can't find him anywhere. He just disappeared from the hospital today. He's not in his apartment and he's not answering his cell…I just figured after all this business with Kutner-"

"Wilson, calm down," Cuddy said. Wilson paused. "There's nothing to worry about."

"You know where he is?"

"Well, no…not exactly. But I know he's okay." Maybe "okay" was the wrong word, she thought, but she wasn't going to correct herself and risk worrying Wilson even further. "I gave him a few days off. He just needed some…" She sighed. "…time."

"Oh…" Wilson replied, letting out a relieved exhale. A long silence followed, and Cuddy was tempted to end the conversation there, but Wilson apparently had more he wanted to say. "How are you two?" he asked a bit awkwardly. "Are you…good?"

"Yeah," she replied. And she surprised herself by smiling. "Yeah, we're good. This whole week has thrown both of us for a loop…We still have to talk to HR and figure out how we're going to handle it around work…It just didn't seem like a good time to deal with it…" She rubbed her temples, feeling a headache brewing when she remembered all the things that they still needed to sort out regarding their relationship. It wasn't that they were delaying it; it just simply didn't feel like something that either of them wanted to go through with everything else going on in their lives.

"Well I've kept my vow of silence, if that makes you feel any better."

"It does, actually, if you can believe it. Thank you. And I'm sorry. I know you don't like keeping secrets…"

"It's not a problem. You guys need time to work things out…and you will."

"I know…"

"I guess…I'll let you know if I hear anything from House. Although given everything you've already told me it doesn't seem very likely."

"Alright. Same here. 'Night, Wilson."

"'Night." She hung up and rubbed her eyes after she put the phone down on the coffee table. Where she'd once felt relief, worry began to creep into her mind again.

* * *

><p>"I'm checking in." A heavy-set woman in her late forties or early fifties looked up from her magazine, pursing her lips.<p>

"Name?" she asked.

"House," he said. "Gregory." The woman began typing in a blasé fashion, glancing up at him every few seconds as he leaned against the counter. After he'd given her his credit card information and signed his name, the woman handed him a card key.

"Here's your room key," she said in near monotone. "Complimentary breakfast is served from seven-thirty to eleven, the pool is open from nine in the morning to eleven-thirty at night, and the bar opens at seven-forty-five. Enjoy your stay."

"Yeah…" he mumbled, grabbing his room key and hauling his duffle bag over toward the elevator. He pressed the button and waited, taking a glance around the room. The lobby was carpeted in red and covered in burgundy wallpaper with several potted plants dotting the room and a few plush sofas over by the windows. A staircase leading down to the pool was to his right, and around the corner from the elevators was the bar; he could here the clinking of glasses and a few muffled voices coming from that direction, and he was sure he'd have to investigate it further before long.

* * *

><p>It felt strange waking up alone in her bed; after just a few days, she'd grown used to having House there, whether they slept at his apartment or - more frequently - at her house. She checked her phone for any new texts or calls, but found none, and her shoulders slumped. She wanted to give House his space if he needed it, yes, but she didn't want him to close himself off from her completely. Sighing, she got up out of bed and went to make a strong cup of coffee.<p>

* * *

><p>House wasn't normally one to hang around in coffee shops. He couldn't stand being surrounded by aspiring "writers" sipping their venti cappuccinos and feverishly typing on their laptops or by health nuts chugging green tea with lemon. The music was always awful and the windows always created a glare that made him squint no matter where he sat. But the hotel coffee was about as pleasant as drinking stagnant bog water, and he needed a good strong cup right about now, so here he was, sipping his "Premium French Blend" in booth by the window.<p>

He was determined to ignore the woman who walked up to him and stood beside his table, but when she refused to leave, he decided he had no chance of getting rid of her unless he found out what she wanted.

She was tall, brown-haired and slim with sharp facial features and full lips that reminded him a bit of someone else back home. She smiled, her green eyes belying a spark of flirtatiousness that she either wanted him to see or was very bad at hiding. Given her posture, he guessed the former.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was smooth; attractive, even. It didn't make much difference to him. "I saw you in the bookstore earlier." He stared at her, willing her to leave. "I'm Megan." Just keep staring and maybe she'll get bored and leave. "You are…"

"Do you make a habit out of coming up to strangers and introducing yourself?" he asked, the urge to ridicule her becoming too strong to ignore.

"No…" she said. "Only interesting strangers."

"Did you follow me here?"

"No. I'm not a stalker."

"Never said you were…but I'll be honest. You're not making a very good first impression." She surprised him then; she laughed.

"Well neither are you."

"I didn't follow you into a coffee shop and interrupt you because you were 'interesting.'"

"All I did was say hello. There's no law against that, is there?" House huffed and sipped his coffee, looking out the window again. "What, you're hoping that if you ignore me long enough I'll get bored and go away?" He didn't respond. "Well it's not going to work." He glanced at her.

"Why?" he hazarded.

"You're too interesting to bore me." House leaned back in his seat and surveyed her. She looked smug, something that both attracted and repulsed him. It was an odd feeling, one that he wasn't very fond of.

"Well luckily for me, I still have legs of my own." He took his cane in hand and stood, leaving the coffee shop and making sure this Megan person didn't follow him. She merely watched him go, biting her lower lip in a way that was far too familiar for his liking.

* * *

><p>"So he just left? Just like that?"<p>

"Yep…" Wilson rubbed his forehead tiredly.

"Did he say why?"

"I already know why," Cuddy replied. "Of _course _I know why. He blames himself for Kutner's death…"

"What? What could he possibly think he could have done?"

"He thinks he should have seen something…You know how he is. If he misses some little detail it drives him nuts."

"He didn't miss anything. Nobody else noticed anything. Why should he have-"

"I _don't know!_" Wilson paused, and Cuddy sighed. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to snap…"

"No…it's okay. You haven't heard anything from him, have you?"

"Just one text. He said he'd be back Friday. Other than that…I don't know. I don't even know where he is. What he's doing…"

"I guess we just have to wait until Friday, then…"

"I guess…"

* * *

><p>The rest of his day went by in a gray blur, time crawling by at an almost glacial pace, and he found himself in the hotel bar again, his glass of bourbon cold against his fingers. The hum of conversation sashayed through the room in an almost elegant manner as couples flirted and groups laughed across their cosmopolitans. It was enough to easily make anyone else feel invisible and alone, but House, being used to such feelings, barely batted an eye at them now. Instead, he took a sip of his drink and tried to get his annoyingly loud thoughts to quiet down.<p>

"I thought I was going crazy," came a voice from behind. It was familiar, House realized with a pained grimace, and he turned reluctantly to see none other than the woman from the coffee shop coming up to him. He was about to protest when she put up a hand to stop him. "I swear I'm not following you. Really. I didn't even know you were staying at this hotel."

"And let me guess…you just checked in today," House sneered. She shook her head.

"Nope…been here for a while, actually." House turned from her and sipped his drink. Megan sighed. "I know I came across as a little…odd earlier. I'm sorry."

"We have this tradition where I'm from. We apologize with actions instead of words. You know what would really just scream 'I'm sorry'? Leaving."

"And where _are_ you from?" she asked, sitting next to him at the bar.

"What you're doing now…that's like the opposite of leaving. It's not helping."

"It's just a question. I'll let you ask me one if you answer first."

"I'm on the edge of my seat with anticipation."

"Fine. You can ask me first if you like."

"I'd rather you leave."

"You look sad," she said suddenly. The remark threw him for a bit of a loop, and he looked over at her oddly. The way she was looking at him struck him; her gaze was intense and concentrated, like she was analyzing him. He felt an urge to squirm and resisted it. Instead he took another sip of bourbon and said nothing.

"Princeton," he said after a moment's pause. "I'm from Princeton."

"What brings you to Eatontown? It's not exactly a major tourist attraction."

"You only get one question."

"Oh, right…your turn, then, I guess." House rolled his eyes.

"No, this isn't a game. You get one question, then you leave."

"You get a question too, remember."

"I don't want it."

"Ask me something trivial, then. Something you can forget the moment I leave." He put his drink down with a loud clink and stared at her a moment. Her gaze was still just as stubborn and unwavering as it had been before.

"Same question," he said. "Why are you here?"

"That's not really trivial…" she said with a smile.

"Is to me. But that it isn't to you is very…" He stopped himself, turning away from her and drinking.

"What?"

"…interesting," he said reluctantly. He expected her to look smug, but she didn't. Instead, she merely looked…sad.

"I just got out of a relationship," she said after a long silence. "A pretty serious one."

"Divorce?"

"Not quite. To be divorced, first you have to be married. And that's not exactly legal in Jersey just yet." He arched an eyebrow, and she winked, offering a somewhat sad smile.

"So why are you flirting with me, then?"

"I'm not flirting. You're just interesting. That's all. You look like you have a lot going on in that head of yours."

"I do…" he found himself sighing, and he didn't catch himself until the words were already out of his mouth.

"I guess that has something to do with why you're here?"

"You really think I'm going to open up and tell you all my problems?" he snapped. She barely blinked.

"No…but you _did _just admit that you _have _a problem."

"Everyone has problems."

"Not everyone drives an hour away from home just to hide from them in a hotel, though."

"I'm not hiding," he protested.

"Then why are you here?"

"What makes you think I'm going to tell you?"

"I've told you about why I'm here."

"You're assuming fair play. I don't do fair play."

"See, if you're trying to get me to leave, that was the wrong thing to say." He glanced at her. "It just makes you more interesting." She smiled widely, and he huffed.

"Why are you so intent on figuring me out? Why do you want to know so badly?"

"Because I don't already," she said plainly.

"So you want to know…because you don't know already."

"Yup."

"And that drives you nuts." She leaned toward him.

"Yup," she repeated. There was a look in her eyes, a familiar look. It was one that he was certain he could have found in his own eyes at several points in time had he looked in the mirror. And the familiarity of it alone, as reluctant as he was to admit it, scared him more than anything. He wanted suddenly to push the glass of bourbon in his hand away; it repulsed him, reminded him of his own lonesomeness. He didn't want that. He didn't want to be lonely.

"You look so sad…" Megan repeated with a voice full of pity and sadness of her own. She shifted in her seat as House looked down and away. When she turned back toward him, her smugness was gone from her features. "I don't usually do this…I really, really don't, but…I have a room on the second floor. Maybe it's crazy, but…" Cautiously, she put her hand on his arm, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning into the touch, craving human contact like a man who had wandered in the desert for days would crave water. All the emotions and vulnerability that he'd kept so well hidden beneath his outer shell of gruffness and sarcasm came bubbling up to the surface and all he wanted to do was to touch someone and be with someone. It didn't matter whom; he just didn't want to be alone.

But then he realized, as he looked into her eyes, that it _did_ matter. It mattered very much.

He realized that her hand was still on his arm, and he slowly pulled it away. "I can't," he said softly. Her face fell. He stood. But then he paused, and he turned to face her again.

"I lost someone," he said.

"What?" she asked, trying to mask her disappointment and embarrassment.

"That's why I'm here. I lost someone. And it was my fault…" He turned from her again, leaving her sitting at that bar, leaving his half-finished glass of bourbon on the counter.

* * *

><p>It was quiet and dark in Cuddy's bedroom, and she was awoken by a slight shuffling noise. Still half-asleep and exhausted from her day, she decided it was nothing worth investigating - probably just the wind or a raccoon in the back yard - and she buried her nose deeper into her pillow and sighed.<p>

But then she felt someone lie down next to her and wrap their arms around her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin before she scrambled around and saw House's eyes gleaming at her from the dark.

"What the _hell_, House?" she snapped, rubbing her eyes and trying to slow her racing heart. "You scared me half to death…"

"Sorry," he said, and it surprised her; she wasn't used to him apologizing for anything. His arms were still wrapped around her tightly, and she realized how badly she'd missed that feeling. Gently, she touched his forearm.

"You weren't supposed to be back until Friday…" She glanced at the clock. "It's past midnight. What are you doing?"

"I needed to see you," he admitted. "I…" He pressed his nose to her shoulder and sighed. Cuddy soothingly ran her hand up and down his arm, squeezing his wrist. He looked up at her with some effort.

"I didn't want to be alone…" he said, and Cuddy let out a soft, sighing "Oh" and pulled him closer.

"It's okay," she said, holding him tightly. "It's alright." He mumbled something against her shoulder, and she gasped, not believing that she'd heard him correctly.

"House…" she whispered. He pulled back and looked at her. And then he kissed her, and it was a kiss unlike any other they'd shared before, filled with emotion and passion. Cuddy placed her hands firmly on his shoulders when they parted, and she smiled, holding back tears.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get you out of these clothes…" They sat up, and slowly, she pulled off his jacket and shirt, hands sliding over his skin, soothing him with her touch. It was the touch he'd craved so deeply back at that bar, he realized, and he kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed with her.

They made love for the first time that night. They'd had sex plenty in the past, of course, but never before had they made love until then. She pulled him close and repeated the words he'd said to her earlier, whispered in his ear, and she could have sworn she saw him smile.


	10. Better Late Than Never

**Chapter ten! A little short, but important. I was considering ending it with a cliffhanger, but ended up deciding against it. (You'll probably thank me for that...you'll see why. :P) Anyway, enjoy! **

********Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.********

* * *

><p><strong>Better Late Than Never<strong>

"Are you asleep?" House asked.

A pause.

A sigh.

"No."

"'neither…"

Cuddy pulled her blanket up close to her chest and rolled over to face him, staring into his cobalt blue eyes in the low light. One of his arms was slung around her shoulders, the other tossed over the edge of the bed. She felt safe and content, but sleep eluded her; there was too much going on in her brain, too many thoughts rampaging through her mind.

"This should feel big…" she mused, mostly to herself. "Why doesn't this feel as big as it should?" House smirked.

"Never heard you say that before," he quipped. Cuddy pursed her lips at him.

"Quit cracking jokes, will you?" she chastised. "You said you love me…that's supposed to be a big step, isn't it?" House shrugged.

"Only big if you let it be…" he said.

"But you said you _love_ me," she repeated, as if he hadn't heard her the first time.

"And you said it back," he pointed out.

"I did…I _did_…" The meaning of the words seemed to be becoming clearer to her as she spoke, as if something was dawning on her. She looked up at him again and cupped his face in her hand. "I do," she said in a near whisper. His eyes softened slightly, but the urge to retreat from the emotionality of the whole situation won out in the end. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling as Cuddy snuggled against his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she mumbled quietly into his skin after a long moment's pause.

"Yeah…" he replied, shrugging off the question. She stared at him, her eyes piercing into the side of his skull.

"You sure? You're not going to run away again, are you?"

"I wasn't running away," he defended. "I just…needed some time. I got it, now I'm back, and I'm fine."

"Okay…" she relented, clearly not wanting to push him too much so soon after seeing him let down his emotional defenses.

"I didn't even go far…" he said after a moment, absentmindedly running his fingers up and down Cuddy's arm. "Eatontown…"

"Eatontown?" Cuddy repeated, knitting her eyebrows together. "Why-"

"Like I said, just needed to get out of Princeton. Short of that, it didn't really matter." He angled his head away from her, retreating into his metaphorical shell once again. She pressed her hand to his collarbone, gently stroking his skin until he looked at her again.

"I understand…" she told him, and she kissed him on the cheek to prove her point. "I do…really…" He nodded.

"Thanks," he said, but his voice was so soft it was as if he were merely mouthing the words to her. She surprised herself by smiling, and again she nuzzled against his chest.

* * *

><p>A week passed before Cuddy walked into House's office again, an envelope clutched in one hand. House couldn't read her expression when he looked up at her; it was somewhere between hopeful and anxious, and it made him somewhat uneasy.<p>

She stopped just short of his desk and their eyes locked in silence for a long few moments before Cuddy spoke. "There's a memorial service next Saturday," she said, gingerly placing the envelope on his desk. He looked from her to the folded paper to her and back again.

"I know it's a lot-"

"I'll go," he interrupted. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She hadn't been expecting such cooperation so easily.

"Really?" she asked, trying not to sound too taken aback by his acceptance.

"It's just an hour of my time. I've got nothing better to do."

"Alright…" She shifted a bit uncomfortably, making House figure she had something more to say to him. "And you're alright?" There it was. He fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Fine," he said, voice sounding harsher than he'd intended. Cuddy nodded and turned to leave, but House stood. "Hey…" Wincing, he massaged his leg, waiting for her to turn before he approached her. "Thanks," he said, and Cuddy allowed the tiniest of smiles to grace her features.

She was tempted to ask what the gratitude was for, but she thought better of it.

Instead, she nodded and, after casting a quick glance down the hallway, pecked him lightly on the cheek.

"You're due in the clinic in half an hour," she told him as she opened his office door. This time, he did roll his eyes. Their usual banter restored, the mood lightened considerably.

As Cuddy walked off down the hallway, House spared a glance back at the envelope on his desk, and he tore it open. The invitation was a relatively plain one as far as looks were concerned: elegant, looping script that could have served its purpose for a funeral, marriage or baptism equally well, printed on heavy, off-white paper. It used wording like "Gather to celebrate the life and mourn the untimely death of Lawrence Kutner" and the like. It made him grimace.

* * *

><p>She was just heading into the church when she heard his motorcycle come roaring down the street, and she turned as he parked on the curb across the street, taking off his helmet and retrieving his cane. Their eyes met, and she smiled tiredly; the expression was so forced and artificial that it actually made commanded a large amount of effort to maintain, so she let it fall after just a few moments.<p>

"I wish you'd let me drive you sometime," she said as he approached her and they walked up the cold stone steps together. "You know I hate that metal deathtrap of yours…"

"Sorry, Mom," he quipped raggedly. He pushed the heavy wooden doors open and the two of them entered the sanctuary, a sea of black and white suits and dresses against the navy carpet. The low hum of conversation buzzed around them on a muted note.

"I hate funerals…" Cuddy remarked sadly, nodding at a few co-workers who passed by.

"Don't think I've ever met anyone who didn't." He shrugged. "Well…there was that one time…but he _was_ in the psych ward, so maybe that should tell you something." Cuddy sighed, and an expression that at one time may have become a small smile flitted across her face before disappearing behind exhaustion and sadness.

The service was rather short. With no family to speak of present, it was Foreman who spoke instead when it came time to deliver some final words. House worked his jaw back and forth through most of the program, expression stoic and difficult to read. Cuddy reached over and gave his hand a squeeze, a gesture which he returned somewhat half-heartedly without meeting her gaze. When people around them began to stand and stretch, Cuddy wiped her eyes.

"House…" she said, touching his arm. He turned. "Why don't we give the reception a miss? Just…come back to my place." He looked from her to the casket beneath the stained glass window at the front of the sanctuary and back again. Cuddy tried to smile warmly, wanting to offer comfort if it was needed, but not wanting to push.

"I think I'll just go home," he replied gruffly, and she tried to hide the way her face fell. She wasn't too keen on being alone at the moment, if she was perfectly honest with herself.

"Okay…" she relented, letting go of his cuff. He turned without another word and limped out of the church before anyone else could stop him to chat.

"He okay?" Cuddy turned at the sound of a voice behind her. It was Chase, which surprised her; he was watching House leave with an expression on his face that seemed somewhere between curiosity and concern.

"Fine," she said curtly, following his gaze, also staring as House walked to his bike. She pursed her lips and offered a sad half-smile before heading to her car. As much as she would have preferred not to be alone, the idea of a reception with people all dressed in black and murmuring about the doctor who had taken his own life, tip-toeing around taboos and trying to respect the dead, made her feel slightly sick to her stomach.

* * *

><p>It struck her all in one hard-hitting moment, like a punch to the gut, as she passed the calendar on her bedroom wall. The days were cluttered with red markings, circles, X's and notes. But as she glanced at the numbered boxes and did some quick math, it became hauntingly obvious that something was amiss.<p>

Amidst everything that had been happening, she hadn't even noticed…Or maybe she'd passed it off as stress, or a thousand other things because after all that would be a perfectly logical explanation that required no panicking or any similar reactions. But as she counted the days, numbered the weeks and came to the conclusion that maybe it was something that warranted her attention, she began to feel slightly ill, and the sensation only made her wonder even more if the impossible were truly very possible indeed.

She picked up the phone, initially thinking of dialing House's number, but then thinking that maybe it wasn't something that she needed to dump on him right then. After all, maybe it was nothing. Maybe she was overreacting. Either way, instead of dialing his number, she found herself dialing her sister's, which surprised her. Nonetheless, she pressed the phone to her ear and waited, nervously perching on the edge of her bed and glancing at the clock: half past six.

"Hello?" came the usual greeting.

"Hey Julia," Cuddy said, trying to make her voice sound steady. "You busy?"

"Lisa! No, you caught me at a good time, actually. Just sitting down to watch Scrubs…What possessed you to call all of a sudden?"

"Oh, nothing…just figured I hadn't in a while, and-"

"Lisa…" Julia interrupted, sounding suspicious of her sister's true motives for calling. "Is something wrong?"

"What makes you think that?" She could almost hear Julia roll her eyes.

"We did grow up together. Or did you forget that? I can tell. Did something happen with that new boyfriend of yours?"

"No, House and I are…fine," Cuddy said, her heart jumping in her chest at the mention of his name.

"So what is it?"

"It's probably nothing…"

"Lisa, you don't usually beat around the bush like this. Tell me what's going on." Cuddy sighed and rubbed her eyes, trying to figure out how best to phrase things so that she wouldn't have to deal with her sister freaking out and making her anxiety worse instead of better. It seemed an impossible task, and she was beginning to regret calling, but there was no getting out of it now. He sister had this annoying ability to know when she was lying.

"Lisa-"

"I'm just…a little late," Cuddy forced out. On the other line: silence.

"Late…as in?"

"As in _late._"

"You don't think you're…"

"I don't know, okay?" Cuddy slumped forward and rubbed her temples.

"Have you been protecting yourself?" She couldn't help but laugh a bit at that.

"You sound like my high school health teacher," she quipped.

"I mean it! Are you still on the pill?"

"Of course I am. I'm not an idiot."

"I never said you were," Julia said, her tone softening. "Have you taken a test?"

"No," Cuddy admitted. "It's just a few weeks…Still, I'll probably take a test just to be sure…"

"Well it can't be all bad, can it? I mean you were trying to adopt not long ago, weren't you?" Julia sounded cautiously hopeful that the point would boost her sister's mood, but Cuddy merely sighed. True, a baby _was_ something that she had sought after for a good long time, but this wasn't how she wanted things to turn out.

House's child…

She began to feel queasy again.

"It's…complicated," she forced out, it being the only explanation that made one iota of sense in her frazzled brain at the moment. She sensed Julia was about to say more, but she was tired and already regretting this whole conversation, so she spoke first: "Listen, I should probably go…"

"Okay…" Julia relented, albeit reluctantly. "Look…let me know how things…turn out, okay?"

"I will," Cuddy said, and she hung up before Julia could say anything more, refusing to let herself feel any sort of guilt for it. If Julia wanted to snap at her for it later, then let her, but she had more important things to attend to.

* * *

><p>Normally, she would have been against bringing her personal problems to the hospital, but as her ankle brushed against the paper bag under her desk by her foot, she supposed she was willing to give that rule a miss just this once. She hadn't had any tests lying around the house, and it had been cold and somewhat rainy outside, so she hadn't much liked the idea of going out the previous evening, but on her way to work, she'd stopped and picked one up.<p>

Now she was sitting at her desk, trying to at least pretend to concentrate on the budget reports in front of her, her thoughts wandering back to that bag and what it contained. Part of her wanted to take it into the bathroom right at that very moment and find out once and for all, but another part of her was scared stiff of what it could potentially mean. Waiting would do nothing to aid the situation, she knew, but she had yet to get of the necessary courage to do what needed to be done.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore, and she reached into the bag and pulled out the slender box from inside, standing and heading for her office bathroom.

She hadn't made it more than two steps from her desk when her office door swung open, and on a reflex, she concealed the box behind her back, hidden from the view of the intruder. That intruder just happened to be none other than House, a fact that was both a relief and a huge source of greater anxiety for Cuddy.

"What's that?" he asked, brow furrowing as he noticed her quick movement to conceal whatever was in her hand from him.

She feigned ignorance: "What?"

"That," he repeated, gesturing at her hand and stepping forward.

"Nothing," she said.

"Not nothing," he replied, reaching for her.

"It's _nothing_," she repeated adamantly, but House wasn't about to let that answer alone suffice. His curiosity piqued, he took her wrist and pulled it out from behind her back. She didn't resist, knowing that to do so was fruitless, and she merely sighed tiredly as he studied the box in her hand, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Why do you have a…" he trailed off. He looked her in the eye. "Are you…"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I'm just…late."

"And you immediately assumed the worst?" he scoffed. "It's nothing. Could be stress. God knows you've had enough crap going on lately for it to get to you."

"And you've been _so_ helpful when it comes to that, haven't you?" she spat, and she immediately regretted it. She covered her eyes with one hand and pursed her lips. "I'm sorry…" she said after a moment, tone softening. "I just want to be sure…"

"You're not pregnant," House said, as if his stubbornness was enough to make it a reality. "You're just making a big deal out of nothing."

"Then this should make it official," Cuddy said, backing away from him and heading for the bathroom again, heart pounding a mile a minute as she closed the door behind her; the last glimpse she got of House's face was one of exhaustion and anxiety. She was almost positive his expression mirrored her own.

House was still sitting on her couch when she came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, and he looked up expectantly, twirling his cane between his palms. Cuddy tapped the test against her fingers, leaning tiredly against her desk.

"Still cooking," she said, and his face fell.

"I'm telling you you're overreacting," he said, staring down at the carpet.

"Probably," she relented, hoping that he was right.

A moment passed, silent.

"You wanted a baby," he mused. She rolled her eyes.

"I didn't plan this, if that's what you're wondering," she said.

"Not saying you did. Just making a point…" Cuddy shifted uncomfortably, glancing again at the test. Still not ready.

"You're right…" she said. "I did want to be a mother…Just not like this."

"You mean not with my-" He paused mid-sentence, either not sure how to end it or not willing to say it aloud. Instead, he sighed. "It ready yet?"

"No…"

Yet another silent moment stifled them. Cuddy wished the test would hurry up and finish ruminating so this tension could dissipate.

Or, she mused, it could just become a thousand times more unbearable.

No, don't think like that, she chastised herself. House was right; she was making something out of nothing.

She looked at her watch, and her heart skipped. Ready.

"It should be…" she said, and she saw House perk up out of the corner of her eye. She took a breath. Looked down. Stared. Blinked. Looked again. Exhaled heavily. She looked back at House; his eyebrows were raised in expectation.

"Negative," she said. He sighed, but hid it well.

"Told you," he said. She leaned around the doorframe and tossed the test in the bathroom trash bin.

"You're due in the clinic in ten," she told him, sitting at her desk again. He rolled his eyes.

"If you want me to leave, all you have to do-"

"I want you to leave," she said, and there was more venom in her voice than she'd anticipated or even meant to add, but she made no effort to lessen it or to apologize for it. Her gaze was charged as she looked at him, waiting impatiently for him to go. She wasn't mad at him. Or maybe she was. She couldn't rightly tell. There were so many emotions buzzing through her mind that she wasn't entirely sure what she was feeling. She just knew she wanted him to leave her alone. He wasn't helping her frazzled nerves, and as much as she knew she'd probably feel guilty for it later, she wanted to be alone.

He seemed momentarily surprised by her outburst, but then his face fell into his neutral and almost default position of mere exhaustion. "Fine," he relented, but his tone was more tired than angry. That fact alone made Cuddy want to take back what she'd said, but she didn't let the guilt through just yet. House turned and left without another word.

Cuddy reached under her desk and grabbed the empty paper bag there, crumpling it loudly and angrily in her fists before tossing it toward the trash bin and missing.


	11. The Death of Me

**Oh you guys...I don't even have anything to say except that I'm really sorry about the long wait. Just under a month without a single update...how horrendous of me. But I buckled down and got this one done because I owe it to you guys, because without you, I'm just a girl with a laptop. Thanks for sticking with me. :3**

****Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.****

* * *

><p><strong>The Death of Me<strong>

House's phone rang. He turned up the volume on the TV and ignored it until the noise ceased.

_I'm busy. Leave a message_.

There was a beep, a pause, and then a tired-sounding, familiar voice:

_House…I know you're there. I get you've been avoiding me, but would you please just answer your phone? _

He didn't move, didn't even look away from the television. Cuddy sighed.

_House, we need to talk. It doesn't have to be a long conversation, but it needs to happen. Just pick up the phone, would you?_

He glanced over at the phone, just for a moment, but made no attempt to answer. There was a long silence, and he thought for a second that she may have finally hung up, but then she spoke again, and her voice was exhausted, almost desperate.

…_don't do this…please…_

Something within him felt a subtle tug toward the phone at that plea, but still he didn't answer. It wasn't that he was angry. He wasn't, not really. He couldn't put a name to whatever emotion he was feeling, and as conflicted as he was between wanting to confide in Cuddy and wanting to avoid her at all costs, he couldn't help but feel a pull toward her. Still, he denied himself the catharsis of giving into that temptation.

He was always denying himself.

He heard a click on the other line during a lull in the program he was watching; what it was exactly, he couldn't even recall, he suddenly realized. Irritably, he scratched the back of his neck. The new message light on his answering machine flashed. After a moment's deliberation, he reached over and erased it.

* * *

><p>She left on Friday.<p>

_They_ left on Friday.

But how could they when she'd barely spoken to him since that negative test that seemed so long ago, yet so agonizingly fresh in her mind at the same time?

She rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. They hadn't spoken since Sunday, at least not anything more than the occasional exchanged word in the hallway. She hadn't been to his apartment or he to her house since that day at the very least. One day he'd told her he loved her, the next it was as if they'd broken the whole thing off. Her mind was reeling, and she felt an almost constant headache brewing behind her temples; she'd barely slept.

They left on Friday.

A two hour plane ride, a weekend at a medical conference in Virginia, living out of duffle bags and sleeping in a hotel room. And all when they seemed to have a constant static between them that fizzled and sparked whenever they got too close. Not to mention no way out, no excuse she could give, no plea she could make that would help the situation or do anything other than make her look like she was whining to her bosses.

She had a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that their relationship was dying when it had barely begun.

And they left on Friday.

* * *

><p>She waited until the next day to corner him in the clinic, slipping into Exam Room 1 where she knew he'd be getting in an afternoon nap. Sure enough, there he was, lying on the exam table with a magazine covering his eyes. Instead of slamming the door shut, the method she normally would have chosen to wake him, she shut the door quietly, locking it behind her and padding over to him. Gingerly, she removed the magazine from where it was draped over his nose and folded it, placing it on the counter beside her. His eyes fluttered open, and she immediately saw the reason for his nap; he looked like he hadn't slept in days.<p>

"Need to talk to you," she said, hiding as much emotion as she could from her face.

"Pretty obvious from the three and a half messages you left on my phone," he replied.

"Half?"

"That's how much I count the one time you called and hung up without saying anything." Her shoulders slumped. "Also thought the fact that I didn't pick up made it pretty obvious that I didn't _want_ to talk."

"Well we need to, whether you like it or not." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down, letting him know right from the get-go that she was not in the mood for banter as he sat up slowly. Her eyes softened when she saw him massaging his leg, and she relaxed her pose a bit.

"It's not about…what happened," she said.

"You mean what _didn't_ happen," House clarified.

"Yeah…"

"Doesn't matter," he said. "It doesn't bother me. Can't be upset about something that didn't happen."

'Then what do you call this?" she asked, temper flaring even as she tried to keep it in check. "You've been avoiding me ever since…"

"I wasn't avoiding _you._ I was avoiding _this._" He gestured between them. "This unbearable need you seem to have to talk about everything."

"Well we need to talk now. And you're not leaving until we do." House sighed overdramatically.

"I was afraid you'd say something like that…" Cuddy closed her eyes and took a calming breath, trying to gather the strength to not wring his neck when he was grating so roughly on her nerves. He started to stand, but she placed a hand on his chest, pushing him down again. Her touch was tender, surprisingly so, considering how high-strung she felt. It seemed to take him by surprise too, judging by the look in his eyes as he glanced up at her.

"Rierson," she started, the name of her boss feeling sour on her tongue, "wants us to attend a medical conference in Virginia…"

"Sounds riveting," House quipped.

"…this weekend," she continued. He nodded slowly.

"Short notice," he noted.

"That's what I said," she replied with a roll of her eyes and - to her own surprise - a small laugh. After a moment's silence (one that she had to admit felt more comfortable than she would ever have expected) she added, "There's no getting out of it."

"Figured if there was you'd already have found it."

"Yeah…" Another moment's pause.

"Separate hotel rooms, right?" he asked.

Cuddy had throw all her self-control into keeping just how much the question stung from showing on her face. She mentally staggered a moment before replying with a quick, rough, "Of course," and House nodded. She told herself as she mumbled some excuse and left the room that he hadn't meant to hurt her, and she found herself believing that.

Still, intentional or not, he had. Any hope that had grown within her that their relationship might survive this violent and sudden blow began to curdle in the pit of her stomach.

And…they still left on Friday.

* * *

><p>She supposed hoping for some fix-it-all resolution to the situation before the time their plane left the tarmac was asking too much, but that didn't help to alleviate the feeling of isolation that came with leaving the earth and being trapped in a giant tin can with House, their dwindling relationship and a hundred strangers.<p>

He sat across the aisle, head resting back on his seat with noise-cancelling headphones over his ears. Cuddy pursed her lips and pretended to watch the muted in-flight movie playing on the screens a few feet away. Just a weekend, she told herself. Just one weekend of conferences and meetings. Maybe House had had the right idea before; maybe getting out of Jersey would help things, make it easier to talk when they weren't surrounding by familiar faces and places that would evoke memories of pain and uncertainty. Maybe. Just maybe.

As it turned out, she was unable to gather up the courage to get his attention from across the aisle. An airplane, she rationalized, was not the place to be discussing their relationship. So she waited for two hours in silence, not saying a word. And when the plane finally landed, she collected her things, her muscles feeling stiff and sore, and she and House exited in near silence.

The longer she put off the inevitable conversation, she feared, the lower their young relationship's chances of survival. But another gnawing apprehension made itself known in Cuddy's mind as well: that the very conversation she wished to believe might save them could very well be the thing to do them in.

* * *

><p>"The first lecture starts at nine tomorrow morning," Cuddy said as they stood in the hotel hallway some time later, key cards in hand, bags by their feet.<p>

"Great," House said, "I'll make sure to be fashionably late."

"Be on time," Cuddy commanded in her most authoritative tone. "I'm not going to come drag you out of bed in the morning."

"Relax. I'll show up. Though I can't promise I'll be awake." Cuddy's shoulders sagged, and as House turned to unlock his door, she tried to get his attention again.

"House…" He turned. "Can we…talk?"

"What do you call this?"

"You know what I mean."

"And I already told you. I'm not upset. Nothing happened. Nothing was ever going to happen. Nothing ever _will_-" He paused, thinking about just what that statement might mean. Cuddy, meanwhile, already knew, and her reaction to it spread across her face like a flame.

"Forget it…" she mumbled. "I'm exhausted…" She turned from him and unlocked her door across the hall, stepping into her hotel room and dropping her bags on her bed before collapsing onto it beside them.

One weekend…and it could easily be the death of them.

* * *

><p>The crowd in the conference all grew steadily as Cuddy sat perched in her front-row seat, name tag resting just below her neck line. Ever so often she looked around for House, but considering the fact that she was almost a full half-hour early, and considering the fact that House had probably never been the type to be prompt, she wasn't expecting him for several minutes if he showed up at all.<p>

Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty, and before long the lecture was beginning and the hall was packed; still no sign of him. She brushed it off; after all, was it really a surprise? No. Still, as the speaking physician got up to the podium and began to drone she began to feel a tingling sense of frustration that blossomed all too quickly into anger.

She hadn't wanted to come to this conference. She hadn't wanted to be given under a week's notice before having to pack her bags and get on a plane and spend her weekend in a hotel room. Above all, she hadn't wanted to do so with her relatively new boyfriend who was dangerously close to becoming an uncomfortable ex. But despite all that, despite her desire to take the plane tickets and shove them down her boss's throat, she had come anyway, because she was used to dealing with things she didn't want to do. She was used to taking on the world because that was the only way she knew how to live. House, on the other hand, seemed to be in a perpetual state of childhood, avoiding those things that he simply didn't feel like dealing with, no matter what the consequences might be and no matter who might get hurt because of it.

As her mind raced, she began to hear less and less of what the man at the podium was saying. Finally, the lecture was over and she realized she'd heard next to none of it. She was fuming as she stood up, turning toward the back of the conference hall to see none other than the man himself; House stood leaning against the wall next to the door. She stalked up to him, meeting his eyes and pushing through the crowd, pulling him aside into a small alcove by the doors, hidden from the view of the passing attendees by a large potted plant.

"You're late," she accused.

"I showed up."

"Not for much if you didn't even bother to sit down."

"My leg was cramping. I was just trying to-"

"Oh, of course, that damn leg again!" Cuddy scoffed. "You sure know how to turn that into a convenient excuse!" A shadow passed over his face, something resembling anger flashing through his eyes.

"I never asked for this to happen." He gestured at his leg, and Cuddy's expression softened at his tone, guilt flooding her mind.

"I know you didn't…" she conceded. She looked up at him imploringly. "But House…you…" She turned away, feeling her emotions getting the best of her and not wanting to do this where they could be observed by a crowd.

"I don't want to do this now…" she said, rubbing her temples.

"Do what?"

"This!" She whirled to face him again. "We've barely even started and you…" Anger and frustration and hopelessness roiled within her, so strong and so violent that she had to turn from him again. They stood in silence, people filtering by until they were nearly alone in the conference hall. A few stragglers walked past, not noticing them. Cuddy gathered her thoughts and her courage. This would have to be done, and it seemed that it would have to be done now. In an empty conference hall next to the ugliest potted plant she'd ever seen.

Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper: "Ever since that pregnancy scare you've barely spoken to me, even though you know we need to talk. You've been avoiding me, you've been distant, you haven't answered my phone calls. You told me you loved me a week ago, and now it feels like…" She let out a heavy sigh, her eyes stinging. "I don't even know…"

"You want to talk?" he asked slowly, and she looked up at him again, meeting his intense gaze. "Fine. You thought you were pregnant. You weren't. You never were. There's nothing to talk about."

"Obviously there is," she argued. He rolled his eyes.

"Why? Why does there always have to be something to talk about?"

"_Obviously_," she repeated, "something is bothering you."

"Oh, because you can read me so well…"

"Yes, I can!" She stepped closer to him, staring up into his eyes, her gaze intense and unwavering. "I've known you longer than almost anyone else," she said. "I can read you like a book, House. I know you like to think you're an enigma to everyone else, that nobody could possibly grasp how that amazing mind of yours works, but I can. And I know something is bothering you." Her eyes softened, her expression changing from one of determination to one of heavy sadness. "I just wish you'd tell me what that is…"

A moment passed, and Cuddy looked down at the floor, preparing to walk away, trying to will her legs to move. House sighed.

"What would have happened…if it had been positive?" he asked. She glanced up in surprise.

"If I had been pregnant?" she asked. He nodded solemnly. "I don't know…"

"You wouldn't have terminated." It was not a question, but a statement. He knew her too well.

"No…" she conceded. She knew he was right. "I wouldn't have…asked you…I wouldn't have expected…"

"I'm not exactly father material," he said. "I just…" Exhaustedly, he rubbed his face. "I wonder about what I would have done."

"We don't have to think about it," she insisted, placing a hand on his chest. "It's over now. You're right…nothing happened. We shouldn't dwell on it." She tried to manage a smile, but the expression was so forced it threatened to turn sour, so she abandoned her efforts.

"Okay…" he agreed. And just like that, they felt the tension lift, like some huge weight had been taken off of them and they could finally breathe again. Cuddy inwardly breathed a sigh of relief; although she couldn't quite put her finger on exactly what it had been to make things bearable between them again, she didn't care. She was thankful.

"I'm sorry…" she said. "About what I said about your leg…" House shrugged.

"It's fine." This time, her smile was genuine, albeit small.

"Are we…okay?" she asked tentatively.

"I think so…" he replied. The anxiousness he'd apparently felt before was beginning to show on his face, making him look tired even though it was still not even noon. "There's another symposium this afternoon, isn't there?" House asked, voice betraying the fact that it was the last thing he wanted to do with his time.

"Yes, there is," Cuddy affirmed. She put a hand on his arm. "Skip it," she said.

"Really?" House's eyes lit up at the possibility of getting out of what was sure to be an incredibly boring appointment.

"Really. I didn't want to come to this thing anyway." House grinned.

* * *

><p>She kissed him fervently as they came through the door of her hotel room, having missed the feeling of having him so close to her. After being so distant for so long, now being together again, their relationship alive and well, she felt almost euphoric. She smiled against his lips.<p>

"House…" she mumbled.

"Mmm?"

"I lied…"

"'bout what?" She pulled away, looking up at him.

"When I said I could read you like a book," she said. He quirked an eyebrow, and it was her turn to grin. "I can't. You really are a mystery, House."

"You know me better than anyone else," he admitted. The emotionality and intimacy of the statement seemed to strike him after he'd already said it, and he seemed to inwardly grimace. Cuddy merely smiled wider, pressing another kiss to his lips to silence him. Honestly, she did want to say more, but her mind was spinning, and the words left her mind before they had a chance to be spoken.

In the end, all she said was: "And don't you ever forget it."


	12. Impact

**Geez...I was hoping to get this up before November to avoid the terribly long wait that NaNoWriMo was sure to cause, but then it just didn't happen...someone give me a slap on the wrist. Anyway, here we are at chapter 12. I hope I haven't lost you all to the wait. Again, thanks for being understanding. You guys are awesome like that. ^^**

****Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.****

* * *

><p><strong>Impact<strong>

House glanced over at Cuddy's sleeping form as the plane climbed through the clouds. Her head was cocked to one side, facing toward the window, away from him. He sighed and rested his head back against the seat rest; he was tired, his leg ached and his ears were popping. The cogs of his mind turned stubbornly when he wanted nothing more than to sleep this late flight away, letting both it and the trip that it proceeded fade into a memory that he could easily forget.

Cuddy shifted in her sleep, her head lolling on her shoulders until she was pressing up against him. He reached out, slinging an arm around her sleeping form and pulling her toward him so her head was resting on his shoulder. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to love somebody. The emotions he felt for her were so powerful it nearly frightened him, and they had come on so fast that it was almost as if they'd sprung up over night. But they hadn't simply appeared out of nowhere, he reasoned. Now that he looked back, they'd been bubbling just beneath the surface for some time now, just waiting for the catalyst that would set them free. How long they'd lain dormant inside was a mystery to him. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't felt that slight spark when they touched, or that almost magnetic force that drew them together. He'd never thought anything of it until now, though; it had been nothing but a crush at best.

Much more than a crush now, he thought to himself. He swallowed. His leg throbbed. He needed a pill, but his arm was still around her shoulder, and the bottle in his pocket was covered by Cuddy's soundly sleeping body. It was unlikely he'd be able to reach them without waking her. He sighed.

Nagging thoughts inevitably began to creep up into his awareness again: memories and emotions that were still far too raw and recent and that he would have much preferred to keep buried for as long as he could. Still, there they were, making themselves known again as he regarded Cuddy's peaceful face. He'd seen it contorted in anger and frustration so much that to see it finally at peace again was a relief. He swore he even saw her smile in her sleep, if only barely.

What would he have done if that test had been positive?

He tried to push those thoughts away. After all, there was no use in dwelling on them now when there was no point. The test had been_ negative_. Why occupy his mind with all the possible outcomes when they were already put to rest? Still, the question persisted.

She would have kept it. That was for sure. Her desire for a baby had not been extinguished. Worry coiled in his abdomen at the thought; it was probably something they'd have to deal with further along in their relationship.

So she would have kept it. But knowing her, and knowing how well she knew him, it was unlikely that she ever would have asked anything from him. She didn't expect a marriage proposal. She probably wouldn't have even asked him to stay if he hadn't wanted to. He would have been free to leave her to raise the child on her own if he'd felt so inclined.

Would he have felt that way?

He felt slightly nauseous as the thought, and he told himself that it was airsickness.

Was he so against the idea of…a child? His child? _Their_ child. Certainly it wasn't something he wanted to pursue _now,_ but…what about a year from now? Two years? Five? She wanted it, certainly, but she would never force him. Still, he couldn't stand the thought of being the only thing getting in the way of her finding happiness and fulfillment.

He shook his head. This wasn't something he needed to be pondering 30,000 feet above the earth. It could wait. But for how long?

Cuddy's stirrings into wakefulness brought his attention away from his own thoughts, and he did his best to look natural. Still, she picked up on his uneasiness with astonishing speed.

"You alright?" she asked. He nodded.

"Just tired…" he said. "And my leg…" Her eyebrows knitted together in worry.

"Where are your pills?" she asked. He glanced down at his pocket before remembering that they were there, ready for the taking, and he reached down and took out the prescription bottle, tapping two pills into his palm and swallowing them with a sip of ice water.

"Just your leg?" she pressed further, knowing so well that something else was bothering him. But it wasn't something he much felt like delving into now.

"Yeah," he said curtly. She looked at him a moment, as if trying to psychically discover what was bothering him, but in the end, she merely nodded.

"Okay…" She shifted in her seat, leaning her head back against the headrest again and closing her eyes. She paused a moment, and then moved over, once more resting against his shoulder. "You mind?" she asked.

"No." She smiled, for real this time.

"Thanks," she said genuinely. "You're honestly more comfortable than those headrests…keep me from getting a crick in my neck." He nodded almost imperceptibly, and a long silence passed between them.

"House?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad…we're okay." He worked his jaw back and forth. Don't over-think, he told himself. Nothing was more dangerous. Don't over-think. Don't ever, ever over-think.

It was hard to stop himself sometimes. Maybe even impossible.

"Me too," he said.

* * *

><p>As they stepped out of the airport, Cuddy wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. "When did it get cold?" she asked as she gathered her things.<p>

"Weather tends to do that after a while," replied House. "I've tried complaining, but for some reason it doesn't seem to do much."

"I'm just glad to be home," Cuddy said as they made their way to the parking deck. "That conference was a nightmare. Sometimes I think Rierson does these things just to spite me."

"Maybe we could go back to your place…I could help you relax," he teased, nudging her. She couldn't help but smile, but the expression faded rather quickly, turning into a more apologetic one.

"I can't…" she sighed. Before House was able to protest, she added, "I need to get some real decent rest before I go back to work tomorrow. Before _both_ of us go back." He pouted, and she cupped his cheek in her hand. "You know I want to."

"Actions speak louder than words, lady," he said. She let out a tired chuckle, turning from him to open the door to her car.

"I'll drop you off at your apartment on the way," she offered. "How does that sound?"

"Boring…"

* * *

><p>He didn't sleep that night, despite being exhausted from the weekend and everything that had happened during their trip. His leg was still angry at him from the long plane ride, and his mind raced.<p>

Why couldn't he let these thoughts go?

Nothing had happened, and nothing ever would happen if he had his way. If Cuddy ever did find herself in possession of a positive pregnancy test, it wouldn't be thanks to him. He'd decided that a long time ago, not just for Cuddy, but for himself and everyone else. Some people in the world just weren't meant to procreate, and he was one of them. He'd accepted that, embraced it even.

So why couldn't he sleep?

He sat up in bed, massaging his leg and coming to a realization: he needed to talk. So he reached for his cell phone.

* * *

><p>"What?" Wilson was audibly irritated when he picked up, but, House noticed, he still <em>did<em> pick up, despite the late hour. It was good to have enabling friends sometimes. "What do you want, House?"

"Is your refrigerator running?" House quipped. He could practically hear Wilson rolling his eyes.

"I don't have time for this," he sighed. "Unlike you, I actually need to be at work on time tomorrow, and you know I can't function without enough sleep." He paused, thinking over the situation a moment. "Why are you still awake, anyway? Didn't you just get back from that conference today? Shouldn't you be exhausted?"

"I am," House conceded. "Just can't sleep."

"And you're hell-bent to make sure that I won't either, aren't you?"

"Just need to talk…get my mind off of some things."

"Join a chat room," Wilson said, thought House could hear in his voice that he was inevitably going to give into House's whims. Again. "Can't it wait?"

"If I wait I won't sleep at all. And then I'll be grumpy, and nobody wants that, do they?" Wilson chuckled in spite of himself.

"I guess not…"

"See?" House pointed out. "This isn't all that bad, is it?"

"What do you want, House?" Wilson repeated. House paused. True, as satisfying as it always was to toy with his best friend, he had called for a specific reason, and if he was honest with himself, he needed sleep too.

"Cuddy…" he started.

"God it's too early for me to play couples counselor…" he heard Wilson sigh. Guess it was best to just get to the point.

"She thought she was pregnant."

Silence on the other line.

"She was…_what?_" Wilson breathed.

"She wasn't anything," House clarified. "She _thought_ she was pregnant."

"But…she wasn't?"

"No."

"So what's the problem?" House huffed in annoyance and ran his hand through his hair.

"It just got me thinking…she still wants a kid, Wilson. You know that. And I can't be the one to give that to her."

"Don't you think it's a little early to be thinking about that?"

"I've already thought about it. I've thought about it for years. And every time I come up with the same set of problems, the same list of reasons why I should never, ever have kids. If anything, it just keeps getting longer."

"House, I doubt Cuddy would leave you just because you don't want to be her baby daddy."

"You don't know that…she wants it bad."

"Have you…talked about it?" Wilson brought up the subject gingerly, as if lacking the proper amount of care would cause the earth to implode.

"Some…not really…I don't know…" Wilson scoffed.

"Well if you can't remember, I'm guessing you either didn't have a conversation about it or you were drunk, in which case I'd think the point would be moot anyway."

"We've had conversations about it," House snapped. "Just not…we haven't talked about…the future or anything. Just what happened."

"I wouldn't worry about this now, House," Wilson said. "You've only been dating for what? A few weeks? At most? Why talk about something now that would be way down the road, if it even happened at all?"

"Because it might not be so far down the road. Not for her, anyway. She knows she doesn't have much time left if she wants a kid…and if I'm not going to do that for her-"

"And you won't, apparently," Wilson interjected.

"No," House agreed. "I wouldn't…and the minute she figures that out she's going to-"

"Stop," Wilson commanded. Surprising even himself, House did. "I'm not going to let you sabotage yourself. This is good for you, House. _She's_ good for you. Don't mess this up just because you think this is going to destroy it somewhere down the road."

House paused. It was a long pause.

"Wilson," said House. "Don't tell Cuddy I told you, okay?"

"Your secret's safe with me," Wilson said. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

"Let me sleep." House chuckled.

"Fine…"

"And House," The phone hovered an inch or two away from House's ear as he stopped. "You are going to try and stop worrying about this, aren't you?"

"You know me…" House said offhandedly.

"So…you're not, are you?"

"I'll try."

"House…"

"Now you're keeping _me_ from getting sleep. Are you trying to get back at me?"

"Well since I'm awake now I might as well try and make a point," Wilson pointed out. "Look…you know the reason I got so many divorces?"

"You're a symbiote who needs to attach himself to a vulnerable soul to survive?" House quipped.

"It's because I rushed things," Wilson corrected. "I got married too early before I really knew people…and then I over-thought things sabotaged myself. Over and over again. Don't do that, House."

"Don't worry, Wilson," House said. "I don't plan on getting married any time soon."

"I didn't think so…just don't throw this away. You two are good together. Really."

"Yeah…" House mused. "'Night, Wilson."

"'Night."

He hung up, putting his phone on his bedside table and falling back against the sheets with a heavy sigh.

They were good together, he and Cuddy. But the future still lingered before him, looming in the shadows beyond the horizon. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there, growing ever closer, the day when she would inevitably realize that he couldn't give her what she truly wanted out of life. And then what? Would she sacrifice her true happiness for him? Doubtful, he thought. And he wasn't sure if she really wanted her to do that anyway.

Funny, he wondered to himself. Wilson had reminded him of just how young this relationship was. They'd only been together, really, truly for such a short time, and yet it felt like they'd been with each other for years. He wondered if she felt that way too.

He did love her. He wanted to stay with her. He wanted her to be happy. Why did those two things, his happiness and hers, seem to be so tragically mutually exclusive?

He still didn't sleep that night.

* * *

><p>"I was thinking we should get dinner tonight," Cuddy crooned as she swayed into his office the next day. "Unwind a little. It would be nice." She waited a beat, regarding him, thinking he would speak, respond. He didn't. He seemed to be in his own little world, staring at his desk. "House?" Finally, he looked up.<p>

"Yeah, sure. Fine. Awesome."

"Are you okay?" she asked, sounding worried. God, he hated that tone of voice. Her worried tone. She stepped closer, casting a quick glance at the empty room to her left to make sure it truly was empty before leaning over his desk. "You look exhausted."

He felt his anxiety winding up tighter.

"Didn't sleep well," he said curtly. "Jet lag."

"We only went to Virginia, House. It's hardly on the other side of the world."

"Airsickness," he substituted.

"You seemed fine on the plane."

"Well what do you care what the reason is?" he snapped. "I just didn't sleep, okay?" Cuddy stepped back, surprised by his outburst. He sighed. "Sorry…"

"It's okay," she assured him. "I just…are you alright?"

"I told you…I'm fine…I just didn't sleep. I'm not dying."

"I never said…" She paused. "Why don't you just come over tonight?" she offered. "You could…sleep over. I could go for a nice night in anyway." He looked up at her, saw her warm, understanding eyes and counted himself lucky that she was being so kind to him in spite of his mood. Or merely in spite of _him._

"Okay…" he agreed. She smiled.

"Sounds good."

* * *

><p>He rested his cheek on his palm, fingers running over Cuddy's shoulder as they lounged on the couch. She curled against him, eyes lightly closed, and he sighed, this time in contentment.<p>

His hands wandered down her arm, to her hip, meandering around to her abdomen, and those damn thoughts began racing again.

"What are you thinking?" she asked warningly, her tone giving away the fact that she already suspected.

"Nothing…"

"House…"

"Nothing," he insisted. She sat up, looking him in the eye,

"You know I don't believe that. Talk to me…"

"I have…it's nothing, really."

"Are you still preoccupied with that pregnancy scare?" she asked. The point-blank question probably shouldn't have taken him by surprise, but he didn't quite know how to respond anyway. "You are, aren't you?" She pressed her palm against her forehead. "God, I thought we were over this…"

"Well we're not," he said. "I can't…stop thinking about it."

"Why?"

"_Because,_" he snapped. He paused, and softened his tone. "Because I can't…give you that…no matter how much you want it…" Her eyes widened.

"Oh…" she breathed. "Oh, House…You think I can't be happy without a baby? Is that it?" He didn't look at her. She cupped his face in her hands and pulled him to face her, looking him in the eye. He averted his gaze. "Look at me." Finally, he did, willingly.

"I'm happy to have _you_," she said. "I want this to work, and I'm not going to let something like that get in the way of it."

"But you do want it…and I can't give it to you."

"I do want it…" she admitted. "But it's not the only thing that will make me happy." He looked at her, and she smiled. "You idiot…" She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly.

* * *

><p>A week passed. A week that went by rather quickly, if Cuddy was being perfectly honest. She was thankful for that.<p>

The reverend was still in her hospital, but recovering quickly. Before too long he would be discharged, and then she would be rid of him for good. She and his wife had had coffee together once or twice and talked. She seemed so tired, that woman, and Cuddy's heart always went out to her. She wished her the best, willed her to find happiness.

It was raining as she pulled out of the parking lot, heading for home after a long day. Even with her windshield wipers going on full kick, it was difficult to see, so she went slowly. There was nothing worse than cold rain like this. She shivered and turned the heat up.

As she stopped at a red light, her mind wandered. She and House had been doing well, having experienced a sort of catharsis after their conversation the week prior. She hoped that she could convince him that she truly was happy. And maybe she did want a baby, but she had been being honest with him when she'd said she could find happiness perfectly well in other places. If she could only make him believe that too.

The light turned green, the color reflecting all across her rain-covered windshield. She progressed through the light, sighing and squinting in order to see a little better. A bright light drew her attention to her passenger-side window.

The headlights were visible for only a moment before impact. And after that, nothing.


	13. Bedside Manner

**I forced myself not to put this off because I still feel bad about the horrendous wait I put everyone through before...and lo and behold! Two days later and the next chapter is already done! Amazing what you can do when you forgo sleep and stay glued to your laptop into the wee hours of the morning. XD**

**Since we're going into finals time now, it might be a wee****k or two before I update again, but it won't be two months. I can promise you that! **

**Hopefully House is IC enough for everyone in this chapter. I'm trying to show his vulnerable, caring side without making him too much of a marshmallow. It's not easy to resist my fluff muse, I tell you! :P **

******Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.******

* * *

><p><strong>Bedside Manner<strong>

It was the longest wait of her life.

She was freezing, shaking, the car's dying gasps rattling the metal skeleton above her. Cold, heavy metal pressed down against her right arm, cutting into her skin. She could feel blood trickling down over her fingers. She let out a shaky breath, seeing a puff of cold mist rise from her lips. Above her, the traffic light changed from green, to yellow, to red. The rain was cold on her skin.

The weight of the car was crushing her; she could barely breathe. The smell of gasoline and singed rubber burned her nostrils. Her arm was pinned, but she found she could move her fingers, if only barely. She glanced with some difficulty over at the crushed and twisted chunk of metal that was trapping her arm. There was blood, but not too much that she could see.

She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes and pulled.

Her arm immediately burst into symphony of pain, fire seeping through her veins and setting her body alight. She shut her eyes tight and bit back a scream. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and her breath came in hurried gasps.

She wanted to cry out, but her voice died in her throat.

It was only then, after that first, initial burst, that the pain set in. The crushing pressure on her waist was almost intolerable, and her arm was searing white hot from shoulder to wrist, her trapped fingers invisibly gripping at the blood-stained pavement below. Her chest hurt…it felt like someone had reached into her chest and was squeezing her heart and lungs, slowly crushing them, keeping her from getting a full breath in. She struggled for air.

Her vision began to fade, and in a way, she was thankful for it, because with her consciousness went her pain. In the last moments before her awareness went dark, she could see flashing red and blue lights approaching through the shadows, and hear the howling of sirens. Some small spark of hope bloomed within her aching chest, but it was not enough to keep her vision from fading completely.

* * *

><p>House flopped down on Cuddy's couch and clasped his fingers over his stomach, eyes trained on the from door around the corner. She'd stayed late again, of course, which meant one of two things would happen when she walked through that door: either she would snap at him for putting his feet on the couch and go to bed early, claiming she didn't have the energy to do anything else, or she would practically jump at the chance to indulge in a little "stress relief," as the term had so eloquently been coined in their relationship. After all, that was how it had all started, and they tended to fall into old habits when one or both of them was stressed or tense.<p>

It wasn't completely unpleasant, he had to admit.

He sighed, taking a magazine off of the coffee table and flipping through it as he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And when the clock finally struck nine, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a small bit of worry. He took out his cell phone, fingers hovering over the buttons when it buzzed in his hand. It was Wilson, his office phone, House noticed. Odd. Wilson wasn't usually one to stay so late.

He answered: "Is there some fancy do a the hospital tonight that I don't know about?"

"House…" Wilson sighed. He sounded exhausted. No, that wasn't it. He sounded _frantic_. "Where are you? I've been calling your home phone for fifteen minutes!"

"I'm at Cuddy's place," House said, worrying bubbling in his abdomen. He pushed it down, suppressing it. "Figured she was staying late. Has she even left yet?"

"She left an hour ago," Wilson replied. "House, she…" He trailed off, and it was only then that House sat up on the couch, heart beginning to pound in his chest.

"What?" he prompted. Wilson took a deep breath, emotion welling up within him so violently that House could hear it on his end of the phone.

"She was a few blocks from the hospital…someone ran a red light, and…House, she's in the ER now."

House was standing by the time Wilson finished the fragmented sentence.

"Is it bad?" he found himself asking, the doctor in him taking over his thought process. It was the only way he found he could form a coherent thought. Meanwhile, the more vulnerable part of him withdrew deep into his mind, hiding from the pain that was sure to come.

"Her arm is broken, and there's some pretty extensive tissue damage," said Wilson, his words sounding forced and tired. "A few broken ribs, and some internal injuries. I don't know too many details, but they're taking her to surgery before too long." He sighed again, deeply. "House…you need to get here."

"Right…" House agreed, though he was hardly aware of himself talking.

"House…" Wilson began, "You are coming, right? She's going to need you here…"

"I know," House snapped. There was silence on the other line.

"Okay," Wilson conceded. "I'll meet you here."

* * *

><p>He honestly didn't know what he was doing as he drove to the hospital.<p>

What difference would his presence make? She was probably in surgery by now, unconscious, at the mercy of the attending surgeon, her life in their hands. It was out of his control; what could he do to help her now?

Still, he drove on, through the rain, feeling oddly numb.

Thoughts made themselves known at the edge of his mind, thoughts of what could happen, what might happen if something went wrong, if the surgeon didn't move fast enough, if they missed something while she was under the knife, if things took a turn for the worst. He felt those thoughts there, right on the fringe of his consciousness, and he turned them away, pushed them down as far as they would go into the shadows of his subconscious. They festered there.

He wouldn't think of those things.

He pulled into the parking lot and parked crookedly in the handicapped spot, ignoring the rain as he went inside. The lobby was warm, a nice relief from the frigid weather outside, and he immediate saw Wilson standing there near the entrance, visibly distressed.

"Good that you came," he said.

"You thought I wouldn't?" quipped House. He took a glance around and lowered his voice. "How is she?"

"Still in surgery. She just went in not too long ago…it's looking likely that she'll get through this, but…it's still pretty bad." House pushed past him and headed for the elevator. "Where are you going?"

"Need some coffee," House said, not turning around. Wilson said nothing more, watching him go. House repeatedly jammed the button next to the elevator, leaning against the wall as he waited for the car to come. The doors opened, he went inside, and they closed behind him, and it was only then that he let himself fully slump against them.

Several moments passed in complete silence.

Finally, he straightened up and pressed the button for his floor, and the car started to move. He pushed those nagging thoughts away, even as they continued to bite and nip at the edges of his mind. He couldn't give them any attention now, or he would never be able to turn them away again.

* * *

><p>He couldn't help but notice what a cliché it was for him to be sitting at his desk, staring out the window at the rainy night while his mind raced and he tried desperately to guard against the more dangerous thoughts that threatened to bully their way to the forefront of his mind. Still, he couldn't find the motivation to move from his spot. He tapped his fingers against his desk, pinky brushing against the Styrofoam cup near his hand, whose contents were now cold and untouched.<p>

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and when he reached for it, he was taken by surprise by the fact that it was nearly midnight. The call was from Wilson. He picked up.

"She's out," was all Wilson said the moment House had put the phone to his ear. "Everything looks good so far…she's in the ICU now, still sedated, but she's stable."

"Great," House said after a moment's pause.

"Visiting hours are over…" Wilson mused. "But…you could probably get in…I doubt the night shift nurses would stop you."

"Yeah…I will…later…"

"House…you _are_ going…right?"

"Of course I am," House snapped. "But there's not much I can do if she's still unconscious, is there? Let me know when she wakes up."

"House…"

"What?"

"You know she's going to want you there when she wakes up."

"Which is why I'm asking you to tell me when she does."

"You know what I mean." House sighed. "Think of what she just went through. She was alone and in pain and terrified…when she opens her eyes, do you really want her to be alone?" The question struck House in a way he never thought it could.

"Great…try and guilt me into going, why don't you?"

"I shouldn't have to," Wilson pointed out. "You should be at her side right now."

"Do I tell you how to work your relationships, Wilson? We haven't even been dating that long…"

"That makes a difference? You know you two have had something for much longer than that. You probably know each other better than any married couple does."

"What's with all the talk about marriage, Wilson? Are you trying to hint at something? Unlike you I happen to wait until at least the fifth date to start considering marriage." Now it was Wilson's turn to sigh.

"Just…go, House. You know you should be there. Room Seven, okay?" Wilson hung up before House could get another word in, but honestly, he doubted he would have anyway. He knew that what Wilson was saying was right, but his words had caused something sour to well up within him. He couldn't help but think of her now, cold and alone, shaking in fear and in pain on the street as the rain poured down around her. He wondered if she would have tried call him if she had been able to reach her phone. The thought caused him to shiver.

Someone obviously must have called 911. He doubted it was the driver of the other car, who had apparently escaped without injury. He hadn't bothered asking; he didn't much care. Whether the person had been intoxicated or sober, injured, killed or left without a scratch, he didn't give a damn. His hands clenched into fists at the thought, and he felt an ancient protective instinct rising inside of him.

He hadn't been able to protect her? But what could he have done? He wasn't there, he wasn't in the car with her. Guilt was not an option; it was not what he needed to be filling his time and thoughts with now. There were more important things.

Pocketing his phone and tossing the coffee cup into the trash, he stood, and he headed for the door.

He hadn't been there for her; he couldn't have been, and he couldn't change that. But he was damn well going to be there for her now.

* * *

><p>Wilson was right; the nurses didn't stop him as he slipped into her room. He was sure they saw him, though, and he was sure that they probably considered saying something. But not one of them did. He silently closed the door behind him and regarded Cuddy's unconscious form.<p>

She looked like she was merely asleep, and it would have been a peaceful scene if not for the tubes and wires that were attached to her all over her body. The steady beeping of the EKG by her bed was a comforting sound, reminding him every second that she was still very much alive. It was a sound that he had learned to tune out over years of working in medicine, but not now. Now he needed to hear that, the proof that she was still with him, that she'd managed to pull through and come out the other side. A little worse for wear, perhaps, but still with the living nonetheless.

Her arm was wrapped in bandages, covered by a cast. A few cuts and bruises were visible on her face and neck, and her hair was matted and tangled from air drying after being soaked with rain. He pulled up a chair and sat next to her.

The room was dark, rain still coming down in buckets outside. The sound of it was somewhat soothing. He remembered how much she loved that sound, how she would always lie awake in bed and listen to it for long stretches of time. Her face when she did so was always so peaceful, much like it was now. But this was a different kind of peace; this was artificial, drug-induced peace, not like the authentic, natural serenity that came to her with the sound of rainfall late at night.

Her breath was steady and calm, her expression emotionless.

What was he supposed to do in a time like this? Reach out and hold her hand until she woke up? It didn't seem that it would do much good. Now that he looked at it, her hand that was not partially covered by the cast on her arm was peppered with scrapes from the hard asphalt.

In the end, he leaned back in his chair and waited.

He wasn't sure at what point he fell asleep, but when he woke up again, he rain had stopped. The room was just as dark, and he wondered what time it was; nobody had come to kick him out yet. His eyes wouldn't focus as he tried to read the clock on the far wall, and he ended up abandoning the attempt. He was just about to reach into his pocket to get his phone and check the time when his gaze happened to fall on Cuddy's face again.

Her eyes were open.

He leaned forward, heart racing as her head turned ever slightly toward him. "Hey," he said. It was the only thing that he could get to come out of his mouth. Sure, he would have loved to say something meaningful, something profound, something that would show her that he really did care, but all that he could form on his lips was that one syllable: "Hey."

She didn't smile; she still seemed groggy, but her eyes clearly focused on him, and something resembling gratitude, thankfulness, happiness flashed through them. She opened her mouth, trying to talk, but all that came out was a dry sort of whimper, and she winced.

"Probably not a good idea to try and talk yet," he said. "You're just out of surgery. You should get some rest." She let out a short humming sigh and closed her eyes again; they seemed heavy to begin with. And within moments she was asleep once more, but this time the peaceful expression on her face was not so artificial; it was genuine.

* * *

><p>The next time she opened her eyes, sunlight was streaming into the room through the blinds, and she squinted as her eyes adjusted. Her body felt stiff, and her head was swimming. Memories of the night before were foggy, images of the hard pavement, the pouring rain, the overturned car, the flashing red and blue lights coming in short flashes. She pushed the unpleasant images away in her mind, a surprisingly easy feat when she was still so groggy.<p>

The pain was tolerable. Her limbs ached, her chest and abdomen even more so, and her arm - in a cast, she noticed for the first time - throbbed. But it seemed dulled somehow, and for that she was thankful.

With some effort, she turned her head and saw House by her bed. He was asleep, his limbs sprawled awkward in the chair. She felt a smile tug at her lips. She had thought she had dreamed the few moments she'd been awake several hours before, waking up to see him there. Now she knew it hadn't been a dream at all. Warmth bloomed in her heart at the thought.

She tried to reach out to him, but her injured arm protested against the movement, and she winced in pain. Her throat was so dry that she couldn't call to him. She sighed in frustration. She was still tired, but she wanted to see his eyes before she slept again. She wanted to hear his voice.

So she waited.

It wasn't long before he stirred, awkwardly stretching as he sat up straight in the chair. It looked less than comfortable, and his face certainly reflected that. Still, the moment he opened his eyes and his gaze locked with hers, he didn't seem to care much about that anymore.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, still sounding half asleep. She would have laughed at that had her mind not been so cloudy.

"Had better days…" she managed to rasp. Her throat hurt, but she didn't feel particularly thirsty. "How long have you been here?"

"A few hours." That was a lie, she knew. It had been much longer than that.

"You look exhausted…" she said.

"You're one to talk." She smiled tiredly. "Figures…you're the one in the hospital bed and you're worrying about me…"

"I always worry about you…" she joked. Though there was a hint of truth to it as well, a slightly melancholy edge to her words that both she and House noticed right away, but that neither of them acknowledged.

"What do you remember?" he asked somewhat tentatively after a few moments of silence. She shifted in bed.

"Not much…" she admitted. "I don't remember the car hitting me…I just remember waking up and being on the pavement…and then the ambulance coming…and that's it." She could tell he was fuming, though his anger was not directed at her. She had a feeling that if he ever crossed paths with the driver of the other car (whose fate was still unknown to her at the moment) it would certainly not be a good situation for anyone involved. She sincerely hoped that it would never happen, as unlikely as it was that it ever would.

"What happened?" she asked a short while later, gesturing at her arm.

"Fractured your ulna," he replied. "There was some soft tissue damage too, but you'll get to keep your arm." The last part of his sentence had a joking intonation to it, and she did her best to roll her eyes.

"That's good to know…" It really was, actually.

"The internal injuries weren't as bad as they thought," he continued. "Surgery only took a couple of hours…"

"Surgery…" she mused. "I don't even remember being taken to the OR…" Truthfully, she didn't remember much beyond the ambulance ride, and those memories were merely a few sparse moments of consciousness interspersed within the darkness.

"Yup…" he confirmed. "You're on some pretty serious pain meds, too…lucky you." She let out a small laugh at that, and she regretted it, wincing in pain.

"That would explain the…" She awkwardly waved her good hand in the air near her face to finish her sentence, shrugging off the moment of pain in her abdomen.

"Probably." They lapsed into silence again, until Cuddy finally spoke.

"I'm glad you're here," she said. Her words were sincere and full of emotion. He met her gaze; she had the slightest tinge of a warm smile on her face.

"You thought I wouldn't be?"

"No, I knew you'd come…I just…I know you're not the best at dealing with…things like this. Or at least you think you're not." She reached for him, the motion somewhat awkward since she had to use the hand furthest from him. She draped it over her chest, waiting for him to reach out to her. He did, meeting her halfway and grasping her scraped and battered hand.

"Just…thank you," she said.

"Sure…" They paused for a moment, just looking at each other, being thankful for the fact that they were both there. Finally, Cuddy spoke again.

"You look horrible," she said, suppressing a laugh to avoid the pain she knew it would cause her.

"You should talk…" he quipped. She did smile at that.

"Shut up…"

"You shut up." She shot him a playful glare.

"You're supposed to be nice to me…I'm in the hospital after all."

"Have you forgotten who you're talking to?"

"Never, House…"

For the first time, he smiled, a good-humored half-smirk that let Cuddy know he was going to be okay. _They_ were going to be okay.

"Do me a favor?" she asked. He rolled his eyes.

"What?"

"Go home…get some sleep…" He sighed.

"You just can't stop ordering me around, can you?"

"You thought this would stop me?" He smirked and stood, gathering his things and heading for the door when he paused, turning around again and approaching her bedside.

"Forgot something," he said, and he kissed her quickly on the lips, no more than a peck, really. She smiled as he pulled away.

He was hesitant to leave, but to be honest, a good sleep sounded like just what he needed.


	14. Homecoming

**Important note: I went back and edited this chapter a bit and toned down the more sexually explicit parts to make them more tame (even though they weren't even that bad in the first place...) because has been removing stories and even whole accounts for explicit sexual content lately. I don't want to take any chances. I'm really sorry about this guys, but I don't want to test my luck and if this story got taken down I don't know what I'd do. That said, the original is on my livejournal account if you want to read it. Thanks for understanding.**

* * *

><p><strong>Homecoming<strong>

Cuddy smiled around her spoon, looking up as Wilson walked in, following a knock on her door. She put aside her hospital-rationed chocolate pudding and smiled at him as he entered.

"I guess you're feeling better?" he asked, smiling back at her warmly.

"I am," she agreed. "Though I think I'll feel even better when I can get out of here…I've been cooped up here for a week."

"Well it shouldn't be too much longer, should it?" Wilson asked as he pulled up his chair and sat next to her bed.

"Apparently my stitches look fine," she said. "The arm will take a while to heal, but…I should be headed home tomorrow morning." She gestured a bit bitterly at her injured arm, but smiled none the less as she remembered that she would soon be free of this hospital bed.

"That's great," Wilson said with a wide grin. His expression faltered after just a few moments, however, and he studied his clasped hands. "And House…How has he…?"

"He's been great," she said, her voice sounding wistful and somewhat impressed even to her own ears as she thought back on the past week and all that had happened. "He's been…amazing. More than I ever thought I could expect from him."

"That's good…" Wilson said, his own tone taking on a somewhat surprised affectation.

"It is," she agreed, smiling warmly. "Still…I'm worried about him…"

"Hard not to be," Wilson said, chuckling a bit.

"He's been fantastic, but I just can't help the feeling that he's hiding something…like something is bothering him more than he lets on…and he won't talk to me about it. Even if I ask." She sighed heavily. "I just don't like wondering if it's really taking its toll on him…He's already in enough pain as it is." Her eyes were full of worry and guilt as Wilson met her gaze.

"House has always been like that," he said a moment later. "You can't expect him to change overnight."

"I don't," she said. "I know he's not going to. I know he might not change at all…I don't want him to change." They paused, and slowly, Cuddy began to smile. "It's funny…" she mused. "We really haven't been together that long, but it feels like we have. I keep having to remind myself of how young this relationship actually is…" She ran the fingers of her good hand over the rough surface of her cast, deep in thought as she spoke.

"We've already been through so much…" she added a moment later. Wilson nodded.

"Kutner's death, this…and then there was…" She trailed off, falling silent, and Wilson knew what she was thinking about just then: the pregnancy that never was, the child that had never been conceived, the very idea of which had almost driven the two of them from each other for good. But he didn't say that; he doubted Cuddy was even aware that he knew about what had happened or that House had told him, and he didn't want to put any extra strain on their relationship when it was already in the throes of a raging storm, as it were. So he stayed silent.

"And all this crap about Reverend Mendel…ugh…" She covered her eyes, groaning, as if the very thought of it caused her physical pain. "It's just such a headache."

"Speaking of him," Wilson began, somewhat hesitantly, "I've been talking to some of the nurses. Apparently it won't be too much longer before he's able to be discharged. It's against doctor's orders, really…and he won't be able to travel for a while yet, but at least he won't be in this hospital anymore."

"You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to that…" she sighed. "But right now I'm just looking forward to not being here myself."

"I bet," Wilson said with a smile, one that she returned, albeit tiredly. "You need anything? I should probably go before too long. I have a meeting with a patient in fifteen minutes…"

"I'm fine," she reassured him. "Go. Work." Her smile grew as she spoke, and Wilson stood. Just as he was about to leave, however, something occurred to him, and he turned toward her again, reaching into his lab coat pocket for a permanent marker.

"May I?" he asked, uncapping the marker and gesturing at her cast. She grinned and nodded, holding her arm out to him. He scribbled a quick well-wishing message and signed his name, along with a wide smiley face on her forearm near her wrist.

"Thanks," she said.

"It's my pleasure."

He wondered as he capped the marker and left with a final wave of his hand, where House was and what was running through his mind.

* * *

><p>That night, the weather called for more snow, but all they got was rain. House was thankful; he was already tired of snow. An early winter had settled in Princeton; November was already almost half gone, and House had no idea how he was going to make it through the holidays without going mad.<p>

He looked past his TV out the window at the pouring rain in the dark, and he absentmindedly rubbed his leg. Damn rain…always made it hurt more.

He told himself that it was the rain, and not his own racing thoughts as Wilson might like to think.

The pain in his thigh changed from a nagging sense of discomfort in the back of his mind to a much more prominent and irksome problem when he reached for his Vicodin and realized that he'd left the bottle in the pocket of his coat…on the other side of the room near the door. He sighed, and after gathering up his willpower for a moment, stood with a grunt and limped to the coat rack. He found the pill bottle after just a few moments of digging through his pocket and greedily swallowed two white pills without water, slinking back to the couch to put his bad leg up on the coffee table.

She was being released in the morning. It was a relief, he thought as he flipped through the channels on the TV, from Food Network to the news to Animal Planet to an infomercial. He settled on Boomerang, grinning as the opening theme to Dexter's Laboratory began to play.

It wasn't all that late yet, he noticed, though the darkness caused by the incessant rain made it seem so. He hadn't been to see her that day; despite working in the same building that his girlfriend was recovering in, he hadn't seen the need. After all, she didn't need him to be flitting around her bedside twenty-four hours out of the day. And he was planning on being there to take her home the next morning anyway.

Still, he wondered whether or not he should give her a call.

His hand lingered over the phone a moment or two before he decided against it. No need to seem clingy.

* * *

><p>Cuddy seemed to be in quite the predicament when he walked into her hospital room the next morning; her shirt was stuck halfway over her head, the cast on her arm apparently getting in the way of her pulling it on properly. He snickered at her before taking hold of the hem and pulling it down.<p>

"What would you do without me?" he quipped, and she spun around in surprise, her shocked expression melting into a grateful smile when she saw it was him.

"You could have knocked."

"Did," he said. "You were a little…caught up." She rolled her eyes and smoothed out her shirt over her stomach; the bandages on her abdomen protruded out under the fabric, and she winced a bit, tenderly placing a hand over it.

"You okay?"

"Fine. Just a little sore…" She reached over and finished packing up her bag. "I was supposed to stay another two days, to heal a little more, but I said screw it. I'm sick of staying here…" She zipped up her bag, turning to face House with a triumphant, though tired expression. "If I'm going to be laid up, I'd rather be confined to my hospital bed."

"You shouldn't push yourself…" House chided.

"I'm not. I won't. I'm not coming back to work for a while anyway. I need a break from this place…"

"Fine…but if you start trying to overexert yourself I reserve the right to tie you down." Cuddy grinned at him.

"You'll have to take it easy for a while," she joked, cupping his rough cheek in her hand. "I'm still healing." He smiled back, only just. There were dark circles under her eyes, betraying the fact that she hadn't been sleeping well. He'd asked about it once or twice, since those circles had been omnipresent over the past week, but she'd always changed the subject. So he'd dropped it. But his eyes lingered there now, as he saw the exhaustion hiding under her smile, and his gaze shifted after a moment to the band-aid on her forehead.

"You should change that bandage," he said.

"What?" He pointed at it, causing her to reach up and feel it for herself. The adhesive was giving, and the band-aid was peeling off on one side. A spot of blood was visible through the pad.

House limped over to the counter and took out a fresh bandage, gesturing for her to sit down on the bed, which she did silently. He sat opposite her, cupping her face in his hand and gazing intently at the bandage as he grasped the free edge and quickly peeled it off. She winced.

"Ow."

"Better quick than slow." He took the backing off the new bandage with his teeth and tenderly placed it over the healing wound on her head; it was small now, scabbed over and shrinking with every passing day. Gently he smoothed out the bandage over her skin, his fingers lingering there as he did so.

"Glad you're coming home," he admitted softly, his voice exhibiting a rare glimpse of his more compassionate side. She smiled, and it was a more genuine one this time, overshadowing her exhaustion.

"Me too…" With her good hand, she grabbed his, and she leaned forward to kiss him. He took her by surprise when it deepened it, his lips moving against hers as he brought his hand to her neck and slipped his tongue between her teeth. She allowed the embrace to continue for a few blissful moments, but it was only a matter of time before she pulled away, chuckling breathlessly.

"Completely inappropriate," she mumbled, through she was still smiling as she did. He grinned.

* * *

><p>Cuddy had never known what it was to miss a door, but the front door of her house had never looked more welcoming than it did when she finally made it home the following afternoon. She smiled tiredly as she stepped into the front hallway, hearing the dull noise her suitcase made when House dropped it onto the hardwood floor behind her.<p>

"Hungry?" he asked, his keys jingling as he buried them in his pocket. She was, actually, now that she thought about it. Very. And whether her stomach was actually empty or she just wanted to detox from the week's worth of hospital food was beyond the point.

"Yeah." The bandaged wound on her abdomen throbbed, and she winced, sitting down in the living room. And her arm wasn't exactly being quiet when it came to pain, either. "I need to take my meds anyway…I'm supposed to take them with food." She fished through her purse for the two orange prescription bottles she'd brought home containing her antibiotics and her pain medication, studying the labels.

The two of them, both on heavy pain meds. That was surely a recipe for some sort of disaster, she thought. Still, there was a sort of romantic symmetry reflected in the situation too. She without an arm and he without a leg…what a pair they made! She chuckled.

The soft sounds of House rummaging around in the kitchen attracted her attention.

"Are you cooking?" she asked, surprise evident in her voice. She supposed it shouldn't have been, really. After all, House was a man of many talents, not the least of which was his ability to make a mean cheese omelet.

"You can hardly call it that," he shouted back from the kitchen. "There's hardly anything in this house that's not expired or _organic._" He spat out the last word like it tasted foul on his tongue, and she smiled. "Still, I'll make it work. Just cross your fingers we don't get botulism!"

* * *

><p>"I'm going to bed," Cuddy announced a little past eight-thirty. House turned to look at her from his place on the couch, muting the television. She was exhausted and worn, and her meds were making her groggy. She looked forward to being in her own bed, between her own cool sheets, resting her head on her own pillow. Just the thought of her warm, welcoming comforter made her eyelids droop.<p>

"Alright," he replied.

"You staying the night?" He shrugged.

"You kicking me out?" She chuckled.

"No."

"Then yes."

"'Kay." Gently, she nudged his shoulder as she passed him on her way to her bedroom. "Just try not to wake me up whenever you decide to come to bed."

Come to bed…That phrase sounded so…_domestic_ to her ears. Like they were an old married couple. She shrugged it off. Chances were he'd just fall asleep on the couch anyway. And besides, she didn't have the energy to be going over the semantics of things now; all she needed was sleep.

* * *

><p>She was drowning. Or at least, that's what it felt like.<p>

She turned her head, mouth agape as she vainly tried to gasp for air, but frigid water rushed into her mouth and nose as she did. She coughed and choked, tasting asphalt and blood mixed with the ice-cold rainfall.

Her vision was hazy, the fog that was her field of sight transforming from green to yellow to red and back again in a slow, paced rhythm that made her feel dizzy to concentrate on it. She closed her eyes, but it merely made her focus more on the pain that overcame her whole body, so she opened them again to the brightness.

Her arm burned, as did her chest and her abdomen, weight crushing her from above. The water ran down over the pavement, between the scraps of twisted metal and shards of glass that kept her trapped, pinned against the asphalt. It rushed down over her, the water level rising and rising until it was a flood, and she was underwater. She couldn't breathe; ice filled her lungs, preventing her from even screaming.

She woke up breathless, chest burning, her body covered in a sheen of sweat despite the cold air that surrounded her. And then…warmth. Warmth that came with a strong embrace that enveloped her, and a voice.

"Cuddy," he repeated over and over, trying to get her attention. She eventually came to, her vision clearing, adjusting to the dark. His face filled her vision, his blue eyes piercing into her gaze. "Cuddy," he said again. Slowly she relaxed against him, and it was only then that she noticed the burning in her chest had given rise to tears that streamed down her face like the rainfall in her dream.

"You okay?" he asked somewhat cautiously once she seemed to have composed herself.

"Fine," she choked. "Just a…nightmare…"

"Obviously," he said. "You were thrashing around like crazy." He paused, never letting go of her as she wiped her face with her good hand. "Was it about the accident?"

"Yeah…" Unbidden came a fresh wave of tears, and she stubbornly tried to hold them back. Her face contorted with the effort.

"How much do you remember?"

"Not that much," she said truthfully. "At least not until I fall asleep. Then it's like my subconscious pulls out a movie reel and plays it over and over again…" She took a moment to calm herself, breathing deeply and steadily until she was seemingly at peace.

"I'm okay…really."

"Really?"

The pause was tangible.

"Really." She tried to smile. It didn't work well. So instead she merely leaned forward, leaning her head against his chest and closing her eyes until something occurred to her that made her laugh quietly.

"What?"

"It's just…so weird…this…us…"

"What about it?"

"I mean, look at us…We haven't actually been dating for more than a couple of weeks! But it's like…it's longer than that…"

"Well, granted before we were actually 'dating,' things were…happening."

"Yeah, but that's not what I mean." She paused, her mind turning over ideas and thoughts. One stuck out to her that made something clench deep in her abdomen as she ran her fingers over his arm. "I wish things could…happen now…" she mused, a husky edge to her voice. He raised an eyebrow; she knew that even without looking.

"Your stitches…"

"I know…I can't…not yet…" She sighed in frustration. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to wake you up."

"S'fine," he mumbled.

"I just…it was…terrifying…being out there…in the cold…I…" She trailed off, because saying such things made her throat ache and she knew that it wasn't easy for him to hear either.

"Can you sleep?" he asked after a moment. She pondered that a while. She was still tired beyond belief, but the images that had flashed across her mind when she'd last closed her eyes were still fresh and raw like a gaping, jagged wound.

"I guess," she lied. She paused a moment. "House?"

"Yeah?"

"You're being really…incredible…" She looked up and found him looking down at her. "We've already been through so much crap…I sometimes can't believe we're both still sane…"

"That or we're both utter nut-cases at this point." She surprised herself by laughing.

"I guess that's possible too…" She leaned forward and kissed him, not meaning for it to become anything much more than a tender embrace, but it wasn't long before other, deeper parts of her mind - parts that she usually reserved for things like remembering to breathe - began to take over, and as she felt his tongue flit between her lips, she eagerly battled it with her own, reaching up with her free arm and running her fingers through his hair. He was leaning forward now, pressing against her, pushing her down until she was flat on her back on the bed.

"I can't," she breathed, frustration evident in her voice. She gestured at her bandaged wounds. "My stitches-"

"I know," he said, even as his hands wandered southward. "I'm not."

"House-" Her voice dissolved into a throaty sigh as his fingers found their way to their destination.

She slumped beneath him afterwards, breathing heavily as he peppered light kisses along her neck and jaw, bringing her down.

"That was a nice welcome home gift…" she sighed. He chuckled.

"Just wait until those stitches heal," he replied with an affectionate growl. He watched her intently for a moment or two, wary of any sign of pain, any sign that he might have hurt her, but the only expression on her face was one of bliss.

"I look forward to it," she said with a sleepy grin. She rested her head against his shoulder. Something occurred to her, and she pursed her lips. "Do you…want me to…" She gestured downward a bit with her gaze.

"Nah." Cuddy's eyebrows immediately shot up.

"No?" she chuckled. "You're saying…no?" He merely shrugged.

"I'm tired," he said, brushing her surprise off as he rested his head back against the pillow. "You woke me up, remember?" She sighed lightly, leaning down to kiss him again on the cheek and curling up against him.

"Besides, now you owe me." She giggled, and her eyes slid closed, and before she could say another word, she had drifted off once more. This time her dreams were not haunted by freezing cold rain and bright lights; she was warm next to him in the restorative darkness.

House lay awake for some time, waiting for the deep thrum of arousal that had sprung up within him to quiet down, as it eventually did. He hadn't lied; he _was_ tired, but that was not the point. The point was that _she_ was exhausted. This wasn't about him.

He was allowed a few selfless acts every so often before it had to mean he was going soft, he told himself, and he found himself smirking. If Wilson ever knew about this (not that he was ever going to tell him) House could only imagine how he would dissect it to make it seem like something more than it really was.

He was honestly getting tired of having to explain to Wilson that every little action didn't necessarily have to have some great emotional cause.

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><p>The next morning she was up before he was. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that, but what was out of the ordinary was what happened in the hour between when she got up and when she heard him shuffling down the hallway. As he approached she glanced at the phone and wondered what would be the best way to tell him, for she<em>would<em> have to tell him, and soon.

"You said you were going to take it easy," he called as he entered the living room.

"I am," she said distractedly. "And so are you, apparently…Not in a huge hurry to get to work, I see?"

"I'm playing stay-at-home-boyfriend," he quipped. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"I don't need you to stay here and take care of me."

"Oh relax," he said, flopping down on the couch next to her. "You only have to put up with me for a few days. I've got some vacation days to burn off anyway. And besides, someone needs to stay here and make sure you don't try and overexert yourself." He leaned close and waggled his eyebrows at her, dropping his tone to a sultry, yet still-playful growl. "I already told you, I _will_ tie you down if necessary." She good-naturedly pushed him away with a half-chuckle before her expression dimmed into one of deep introspection and worry.

"You weren't…planning on going to visit your family over the holidays?" she asked, trying to sound off-handed about the whole thing. House, of course, picked up on the undertones of anxiety beneath her casual question.

"I try and stay as far away from my family as possible over the holidays," he said. "And at any other given time. You know that." Again, he leaned closer to her, but this time it was so he could study her face. She subconsciously leaned away from his intense gaze. "Why?"

"No reason…" He said nothing, but didn't stop looking at her, and she knew that he was not going to let up until she told him the truth. And she had to, she knew. There was no getting out of it, no matter how much she wished there was. "Well…I was on the phone earlier…I told my sister about what happened. The short version, anyway." There was no reason for her to worry her sister with details of the accident, but she was intent on staying in contact with her, keeping her up to date as it were. Admittedly, it was more because of her sister's insistence than her own.

"And?" House prompted. Cuddy bit her lip.

"Well…I just…one thing led to another and…" She paused. House raised his eyebrows expectantly as she sighed. Finally she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead.

"House…" she said after a moment, the weight of her words feeling heavy in her chest. "My mother is coming."


	15. Family Matters part I

**Woohoo, chapter 15 is here! Sorry about yet another long wait. Between Sherlock, school and a few family issues I've had little time to work on this. Plus I'm also going to be helping to write a play over the next few months to hopefully be put on at my university next year. Anyway, I'm busy. But I won't leave you hanging! **

**No M-rated content in this chapter. And honestly, it's mostly set-up for what's to come (hopefully rather quickly) next chapter. Still, I hope you enjoy. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White. **

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><p><strong>Family Matters (part I)<strong>

From the look on House's face, an uninformed onlooker could easily have deduced that a meteor was headed for Earth to vaporize them all at that very moment, rather than that Cuddy's mother was coming for a visit. He paused, wondering if maybe he'd misheard, hoping that he had, but he couldn't have; that he knew. Cuddy was staring at him, waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to bolt straight out of the door as fast as his crippled leg would let him.

He thought maybe death by meteor strike would be preferable to what Cuddy had just announced.

The first question that came to his mind was the first one he voiced: "Why?"

"I talked to my sister, and she called my mom, and the next thing you know she's calling me telling me that she'll be coming to visit for Thanksgiving…" She slumped against the back of the couch, wishing that it could just swallow her up then and there so she wouldn't have to deal with _this_.

"I tried to convince her she didn't need to, but she insisted…" she said.

"You had to get your stubbornness from somewhere," House mused. She glared at him half-heartedly. "It's a compliment! For you anyway, it's a fantastic trait. Though I can only imagine what terrors it could possibly have spawned from…"

"It won't be for long," she reassured him, brushing off his previous comment. "Just for a few days, tops. She's coming on Tuesday and leaving the day after Thanksgiving." With a bitter side glance, she added, "And if she doesn't leave then, I'll kick her out."

"Why wait? Kick her out the moment she gets here."

"I can't…" Cuddy sighed. "Even if I know I would love to…She won't let it show except in her own infuriating way, but she's just worried about me after everything that happened. It's the closest she gets to being motherly." She sipped her orange juice, but now it tasted sharp and overly sour, so she put it down and pushed it away.

"Well while she's trying to be 'close to motherly,' I'm going to be far away, thanks," he finally said, standing up. Cuddy's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't really expect me to stick around and put up with Mama Dragon stalking around this place, do you?"

"But I thought you said you-"

"I said I would stay here and help you recover. Never said I was planning on suffering through a family reunion."

Cuddy stared at him for a solid half minute, stunned by what he was saying. Her expression hardened.

"Are you being serious?" she asked, acid leaking into her voice. Her anger took him by surprise, his eyebrows shooting up in response.

"Were you expecting me to stick around and entertain your mother for a week?" he countered.

"I never asked you to do that."

"Then what are you asking me to do?" She leaned toward him, subdued anger sparking behind her eyes.

"I need you here," she said plainly. "Not for the whole time, but just for a little while. Just for one night." Despite her attempts to add another layer of authority to her words to hide the fact that she sounded dangerously close to begging, the pleading nature of her tone still showed through. It only became more noticeable when she added a quiet "Please."

"One night," he replied, seeming to be thinking her request over. But it wasn't a request, and she would be damned if she let it come across as something so simple now.

"Thanksgiving. If you're not spending it with your own family, I want you here. Just one night." Her resolve to hide her pleading intonation was breaking, so she sat up and injected another helping of confidence into her voice as she said, "And you better be here. I expect you to be at that table."

"Why should I?" he countered.

There was tangible venom in her voice as she replied, "Because I am going to be miserable." House scoffed.

"So since you're going to be miserable, you're dead set on making sure I am too."

"I'll be miserable for the whole time. Every day she's here. You, on the other hand…I'm only asking you to stand it for one night. And that's what you do in a relationship. That's what you have to do to make it work."

"Do what? Make each other miserable?" House asked bitterly.

"Average our misery. Make it tolerable." Silence overcame them.

She softened her tone. Her bandaged wounds were throbbing and her head ached as she added, "I need you there…" Gingerly she took his hand, and he sighed. She knew then that she had won him over; he would be there, albeit reluctantly.

She wondered if that truly was the better path. Her mother and House in the same room together…she had no idea what it could potentially unleash. The things she could picture were not pretty.

He huffed, letting go of her hand and tiredly rubbing his face. "Fine…" he sighed. "I'll be here for one dinner. But that's it. The day I choose to spend more time in the presence of your mother than is absolutely necessary is the day you check me into a mental hospital." Despite her exhaustion, Cuddy smiled.

"Okay," she agreed. "But you better be here." There was more pleading in her voice and in her eyes than she would have cared for.

"And if I show up and she's lying dead on the floor with a carving knife in her back," he quipped. "I'm not helping you dispose of the body." She tried not to chuckle at that. She really did, but her efforts were fruitless.

"I'll try to restrain myself from committing matricide." _Or suicide_, she was tempted to add, but in light of recent events, it just seemed to be in poor taste, and she brushed the thought aside without voicing it. She followed him to the door, hiding a wince and placing her hand over her tender, still healing flesh.

Something flashed across his eyes, and for a moment they appeared softer than she was used to seeing as he looked back at her. "If you…still want me to stay here…today, I mean. Are you-"

"Go to work, House," she commanded. "I can take care of myself. Will probably be sleeping most of the day anyway…" To prove her point to him, she pretended to yawn deeply. So deeply, in fact, that she was rewarded with a legitimate yawn for her efforts. "If you're not here, you'd better be at the hospital. I'm sure you can find something productive to do."

There it was again, that unexpected softness in his eyes as he let the left corner of his mouth twitch upward in a half-grin. "Fine…" he said playfully. He pulled the door open, grabbing his coat.

"Don't burn down Princeton Plainsboro while I'm at home," she called after him.

"No promises," he replied over his shoulder. Again, that smile crept onto her face, despite her best attempts to force it away. Now wasn't the time to be in such a good mood, she reminded herself, and immediately, her somewhat bright disposition followed the course of her thoughts until, as she closed the front door and leaned back on it, her mind was racing and her stomach turning. Her mother was coming.

Her _mother_ was coming.

Not only that, but House would be there as well, albeit only briefly in the grand scheme of the week ahead. But none the less, the two of them, Arlene Cuddy and Gregory House, would be under the same roof, sitting at the same table, and she would be in the middle of it all.

If she wasn't insane already, she was almost sure she would be by Friday.

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><p>The days passed quickly, and suddenly Cuddy felt her heart drop to her feet when she heard the doorbell ring. Had this day really come so quickly? Surely it couldn't already have arrived, but a quick glance at the date on her cell phone confirmed that it was indeed time to face what she had so long been dreading. Or, rather than what, <em>whom<em>.

Slowly, she stood, and as she approached the front door as sluggishly as she could manage, her thoughts wandered to House. She hadn't seen him since Sunday, when he'd grudgingly brought her milk and eggs. Rather, she'd _asked_ for milk and eggs. He'd instead brought her beer and pizza and indulged in most of it himself. The rest was sitting in her refrigerator now, and she considered throwing them out on her way to the door since she was certain her mother would find some excuse to criticize her if she saw them there. But the ringing doorbell gave way to an impatient knock, and she let the thought float away. It made way for several more, and they raced through her mind at a million miles per hour as she reached for the door handle.

She sighed and put on a tired smile before opening the door.

There she was, Arlene Cuddy, bags at her feet, reaching up to grab the extra front door key from on top of the porch light.

"Mom, what are you doing?" Cuddy asked. Arlene sighed.

"Well you were taking your sweet time getting to the door," she huffed. "I see you were getting all dolled up for my visit." She cast a somewhat disapproving glance at the sweat shirt and loose pants that her daughter was wearing. Already, Cuddy's nerves were feeling grated.

"My meds are still making me pretty groggy," she said, stepping aside and letting her mother pass her before closing the door behind them. "I didn't think you were expecting me to put on my best evening wear."

"Of course not," Arlene said, her tone changing to a more sickly sweet one that almost made Cuddy miss the condescending and nearly impossible to please one that her mother had adopted the minute she'd opened the front door. In a second, Arlene's hands were on her, firmly grasping her arms as the woman studied her daughter closely. "What did you go and do now? You didn't say much over the phone. What's happened that's made it necessary for me to come all the way to Princeton?"

"Nobody made you come, Mom," Cuddy pointed out, though she made a conscious effort to keep the bitterness from her voice. "You volunteered." Maybe that was the wrong word, Cuddy thought. Volunteered…more like insisted. Imposed. Commanded.

"Well of course I did! My own daughter living alone, recovering from some sort of car accident? What kind of mother would I be if I didn't come lend you a hand?" Arlene let herself into the guest bedroom and dropped her bags onto the bed, letting out a sigh and turning back toward Cuddy, who was trying unsuccessfully to get a word in edgewise.

The sooner she broached the subject, the better, she decided.

"Well I haven't exactly been…alone…" she admitted. Arlene paused.

"Oh, that's right…" she breathed in faux amazement. "I heard rumors about this new boyfriend of yours. Even though I can't imagine still using the term 'boyfriend' at your age-"

"He'll be joining us for dinner on Thursday," she said, cutting her mother off before she could start an inevitable tangent about how Cuddy had to hurry up and find a suitable mate before her ovaries dried up and blew away like tumbleweeds across the western plain.

For a few moments, Cuddy had no idea how her mother was going to react; the older woman's face was unreadable. It struck her as odd and a bit unnerving, since she had grown up with the woman and prided herself on being quite adept at anticipating at least some of her more rational responses. Now she could predict nothing, and the sense of helplessness that realization garnered caused her breath to catch in her throat.

"So I'll finally be able to meet the man," she said rather softly, a smile tugging at her pristinely painted lips. Cuddy nodded. "So is it serious?" Cuddy found it amazingly hard to keep her fading smile from turning into a scowl as the inevitable questions began. She opened her mouth to respond, and hopefully to prevent too many further questions that she was almost certain would come, but her mother interrupted again, this time placing a firm hand on her back and leading her out into the hallway.

"What am I doing keeping you up like this? Let's sit down. I hope you've replaced that lumpy old couch you had the last time I visited. It did nothing for my back except make it tie itself into a knot." Cuddy remembered that Hanukkah well, and as she recalled, she'd provided a perfectly acceptable and comfortable bed for her mother to rest in, but the woman had passed out on the couch before making it there, a half-empty glass of wine on the coffee table beside her. But she didn't say anything about that. She didn't need to say anything that would only make this less bearable than it already was.

She hadn't replaced the couch. Her mother acknowledged this fact with little more than a disapproving scowl down at the cushions as they sat down.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You look pale."

"Just tired," Cuddy said curtly.

"Well are you going to tell me anything about what happened? Your sister wouldn't answer my questions. Said you would fill in the details."

"Of course she did…"

"Well excuse me for being worried about my daughter," Arlene scoffed. "I know we've never been…close, but I thought you would have at least _told_ me something. You never even thought to call me when you were having major surgery?"

"I didn't exactly have time to pick up the phone and dial your number between my car being turned over and me being wheeled to the O.R., Mom…"

"Turned over?" Arlene gasped, and Cuddy immediately knew she'd made a mistake.

"It wasn't…I mean, yes. It was a bad accident. Drunk driver. My car was flipped over…I broke my arm and had to have surgery to control the bleeding, but I'm recovering now. I'm fine. See?" She gestured toward herself, and she felt her mother's eyes raking over her body.

"You arm…" she pointed out, reaching for her bandaged appendage. Cuddy pulled back, and withdrew her hands. "I didn't even notice until now…and those bruises…Oh, why didn't you call me?"

"You're here now, aren't you?" Cuddy countered, and there was more venom in her voice than she had even meant to add. She sighed, glancing at her mother apologetically as the older woman pursed her lips.

"It's okay," she said. "You're tired. You said so. Not your fault if you're in a snappy mood." Somehow, her remarks didn't help except to make Cuddy's nerves even more frazzled. Arlene stood, heading toward the kitchen. "Don't mind if I make myself some coffee, do you? I need a little pick-me-up after the day I've had."

"Go ahead," Cuddy called in the most amiable tone she could muster. She rubbed her temples when Arlene was out of sight, and she took out her cell phone, typing a quick text message. (It was a somewhat difficult feat to accomplish with her arm bandaged as it was, but she managed, although somewhat awkwardly.)

_Kill me now._

She sent the message just as Arlene poked her head around the corner.

"Don't have any artificial sweetener, do you?" she called.

"Just the real deal," Cuddy replied. She heard her mother huff as she disappeared into the kitchen again. At that very moment, her cell vibrated.

_I take it mama dragon has come home to the cave? _

She couldn't not laugh, even though she really didn't want to and frankly didn't think it was possible in her state of mental semi-breakdown.

_I don't think I can make it to Friday,_ she texted.

_Have you mentioned me?_ came his response moments later. She could picture his smirk as he typed. Leave it to House to be wondering if his own name had come up in conversation while she was contemplating jumping out the nearest window to escape her mother.

_Barely. So far the conversation hasn't gone too deep. _

Moments after sending the text message she regretted the phrasing because she was almost certain House would make some immature joke about the word "deep."

_She'll realize what a charmer I am on Thursday. (Haha…deep :P)_

Knew it.

Despite herself, she smirked, even as she rolled her eyes.

_You'd better show up. If you don't I will hunt you down and beat you over the head with your cane._

_Yikes…No worries, I'll be there. Just don't do anything drastic until then, kay?_

_No promises. _And she tagged a quick "less than three" onto the end of the message.

The heart was an afterthought, and she barely realized she'd added it until the message had already been sent. Her mother appeared again in the living room, sitting next to her on the couch

"I'll let that brew…so this new man of yours is coming on Thursday, hm?"

"Yes, he is."

"Well what's the lucky guy's name?"

"Hou-…Greg. Greg House."

"House? Why does that seem familiar?"

"Well we do…work together. Well, technically he works for me, but-"

"Are you sure that's a good idea? Getting involved with someone from work? What if it goes wrong?"

"We're…making it work. So far, it's actually been…" What words could she possibly use to describe it? There were none that she could think of now. Even in its infancy, their relationship had been strained and pushed and put through the ringer too many times to count, and yet here they were, on the other side, still together.

In the end, she just finished the sentence with, "Good."

"I do hope this is something serious, Lisa," Arlene said after a pregnant pause, her tone motherly and a bit more than a tad condescending. "You're not doing yourself any favors at this point with flings."

"It's not a _fling_," Cuddy countered irately.

"I know, I know," said Arlene, holding up a hand in defense. "I just want to know what his intentions are-"

"You sound like you stepped out of the 1920's," Cuddy sighed.

"Not to sound insensitive, Lisa, but you are getting on a bit now…if you're going to find someone-"

"I _know_, I better do it soon before all my eggs dry up! You don't need to keep reminding me of that." She felt a familiar pain well up inside her, and not the pain that she'd felt from her mother's harsh comments, nor the pain she'd felt when she'd been trapped beneath that car, waiting for the distant ambulance sirens to finally reach her.

It was the pain that she'd experienced when she'd lost Joy.

It was old and dulled, but still there and still all too familiar to her. She pushed it down before her mother could pick up on the fact that it was bothering her, but it was too late.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. This time her voice had a real caring quality to it, an intonation that could only be described as motherly, loving or concerned. It was not a tone that she was used to hearing her own mother use, but it did bring up the confession that she'd hoped to avoid.

"About a month ago, I…I tried to…adopt…the mother was young, and she wanted her child to have a better life. But then after she was born, she…she changed her mind." She avoided her mother's gaze as she spoke, forcing back the tears that threatened to gather behind her eyes. She refused to cry in front of her mother. She wouldn't. She didn't.

"Oh Lisa…" Arlene crooned. "Oh, I'm so…why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to…until it was official. And when it fell through there didn't seem to be much of a point."

"Oh sweetie…come here…" Before she knew what was happening, Arlene had wrapped her arms around Cuddy's slim form and was hugging her warmly. It took Cuddy by surprise to say the least. She couldn't remember the last time her mother had hugged her so lovingly, so warmly. She was so shocked that she didn't even have time to return the gesture before Arlene had pulled away.

"I'll go check the coffee," she said, and she had disappeared back into the kitchen.

Whether what had just happened was going to make the week more tolerable or simply unbearable, Cuddy had no idea.


	16. Family Matters part II

**I was going to get this up a day or two ago, but I had a family emergency to deal with, so here it is now. Hope you understand.  
><strong>

**Also, I wanted to take a moment to extend my gratitude to all my anonymous reviewers. I've been getting some really nice feedback from them lately, and since I can't reply to them like I try to reply to the signed reviews (I've been slacking on that lately...my apologies, I'll get better at it.) I wanted to thank them here. So thank you, anonymous people! *hugs***

**Disclaimer: **I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White. **  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Family Matters (part II)<br>**

Why radio stations chose to begin playing Christmas music the day of Thanksgiving, Cuddy would never understand. Somewhat irately she switched off the radio when what she swore had to be their fourth rendition of "Frosty the Snowman" began to play and concentrated on spooning mashed potatoes into a serving bowl. That done, she had just begun to toss the salad when she heard her mother approaching from behind.

"Are those cucumbers?" the older woman asked.

"Yes," Cuddy replied. She heard a huff come from her mother's direction and suppressed a roll of her eyes. "Is that a problem?"

"I'm allergic to cucumbers." This time there was no stopping her eyes and voice from mirroring her annoyance.

"Since when?" she asked, still focusing on tossing the salad, making sure the cucumbers were mixed in thoroughly.

"Since your father died. I think it was the stress of it all. Gave me all sorts of digestive issues. If you'd call once in a while, maybe you'd-"

"You like pickles, don't you?"

"What?"

"Pickles," Cuddy repeated, turning finally to face her mother and trying as best she could to hide the exasperation that was clearly becoming evident in her own features.

"I can tolerate them."

"So you mean to tell me that you're somehow deathly allergic to cucumbers, but not to pickles." Arlene was silent a moment before crossing her arms.

"Are you saying you think I'm lying?" she asked. Cuddy sighed.

"No, of course not. Can you just…pick them out or something? I already tossed the salad and I'm not making another one."

Arlene huffed indignantly.

"I suppose," she said. She wordlessly took the bowl of potatoes and, after muttering something under her breath about how she couldn't stand it when people left the skins in, placed it on the dining room table.

When she came back into the kitchen, it was as if the conversation they'd just exchanged had been wiped from her memory because her tone was warm and non-threatening when she asked, "Is there anything I can help with, Lisa?" It took Cuddy a bit by surprise, but she kept it from seeping into her voice as she thought aloud.

"Well…you could see if the turkey is ready." Arlene chuckled as she walked to the oven.

"Are you finally getting off this vegetarian kick, then?"

"It's not a 'kick,' Mom. And no. House insisted on having real turkey for Thanksgiving dinner…It was his idea, not mine." Part of their terms for him coming for dinner tonight, she mused to herself.

"Why do you call him that?" Arlene asked as she peeked into the oven, fanning herself as a wave of heat hit her.

"Call him what?"

"House. I thought that if you were sleeping together you'd at least be on first name basis." Cuddy nearly choked on the carrot she'd popped into her mouth when her mother spoke. Arlene chuckled. "You didn't think I was a naïve mother, did you? It's not hard to guess that things are…well…I understand you're likely exchanging more than kisses."

"_Mom!_" Arlene put her hands up defensively.

"What? I'm not judging, I'm just saying I understand the nature of your relationship!"

_No, you most certainly do not…_ Cuddy thought, but she didn't voice those words. Arlene spoke again before she could anyway.

"Where is he, anyway? You said he was coming to dinner, didn't you?"

"Yes…he is. He'll be here soon." Even as she spoke, Cuddy ignored her mother's disapproving sigh and glanced out the window at the street in front of her house. Neither his motorcycle nor his car was anywhere to be seen, and he was already nearly fifteen minutes late. Her chest clenched around her heart and she wondered whether he was coming at all. Had he abandoned her, decided that she just wasn't worth the trouble of dealing with her mother for one night? Was he going to leave her alone to not only face her mother by herself, but also give her the task of explaining to her that he had decided not to show up when he had promised to do so? She didn't want to endure her mother's condescending remarks or any tangents about how she always dated people who were no good for her. She didn't need that.

"Turkey's done. I'll get it." Cuddy muttered a half-aware thank you as her mother took the bird from the oven. "I hope you don't expect to stand around and let it get cold while we wait for this man of yours to make an appearance."

"He'll be here any minute," Cuddy said, and she left her mother to tend to the turkey as she went to the living room and got out her phone. She wasn't sure if she was feeling more anger or anxiety as she dialed his number and waited.

Straight to voicemail.

With a frustrated groan ended the call without leaving a message or even waiting for the tone and exhaustedly put a hand to her forehead. House was nowhere to be seen and not answering his phone…just the position she always should have suspected he would put her in, now that she thought back on it.

"He's just running a little late," she said as she went back to the dining room and found her mother standing by the table expectantly, salad bowl in her hands. A knowing scowl cast a shadow over Arlene's face as she put the bowl down next to the turkey.

"Are you sure he's coming, Lisa?" she asked, her voice giving away the fact that she'd already answered that question for herself before directing it at her daughter.

"Of course he is," Cuddy replied, though there was little confidence in her words. "He's coming. He's just-"

The sound of a knock on the door made her cut her sentence short, and she said not a word more before turning on her heel and rushing to answer it, leaving her mother by the table. When she opened the door and saw him standing there, she didn't know whether to breathe a sigh of relief and usher him in or hit him over the head with a frying pan for making her think he wasn't going to show up as planned.

"You're late," was all she said as she stepped aside and let him enter.

"Am I?" he quipped, glancing down at his wrist. "Guess my watch must be slow."

"I thought you weren't going to come," she said, and there was no shortage of frustration in her voice. "My mother's been asking questions…If you were trying to win her over, this was not the way to do it."

"Who said I was trying to win her over?" House countered. "Why would I ever want to win over such an intolerable bi-"

"You must be Greg." The sound of Arlene's voice caused him to cut his comment short. She was standing just feet from them, arms crossed over her chest as she surveyed him, like a cunning wild animal might size up an intruder in her territory before taking it on.

"Arlene," he greeted, and he stepped forward with one hand outstretched. A peace offering.

She paused a moment before accepting, and Cuddy let out an inaudible exhale of relief as the two of them shook hands.

"I'm glad you could make it," said Arlene, her voice dripping with sweet poison. "We were starting to think you wouldn't arrive before dinner got cold."

"And miss out on the opportunity to meet you in person?" House asked. "Of course not."

This confrontation was already causing Cuddy's blood pressure to rise, so she decided to cut it as short as possible. She stepped between them and gestured for them to follow her to the dining room.

"Dinner's all ready," she said. "Why don't we go ahead and eat while it's hot…"

* * *

><p>"So what is it you do, Greg?" House looked up from his mashed potatoes and made eye contact with Arlene for just half a moment before shoving a forkful into his mouth.<p>

"I'm a doctor," he said with his mouth still full, and Cuddy grimaced. She wasn't sure if he was trying to bug her or her mother, but no matter which of them he was aiming for, it was working.

"I know that, but what kind of Doctor? I understand you work for Lisa, but what is it that you do for her?"

She saw it flash through his eyes: that urge to make a crude joke, and she wordlessly begged him not to. Somehow, he either got the message or simply decided that he could pass up the opportunity for the moment, but he swallowed before replying: "I'm a diagnostician. I figure out what's wrong with people and I try and fix it."

"And how exactly is that different from what all doctors do?" Arlene asked somewhat condescendingly.

"I'm the best at it."

"Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"It's true," Cuddy found herself saying. She avoided her mother's eye contact in favor of locking gazes with House as she continued: "He's the best in his field. It's why I hired him." _And why I haven't fired him yet,_ she mentally added. He seemed to sense that last, unspoken point, because he smirked at her, ever so slightly.

"I trust you're not letting your relationship get in the way of your professional lives," Arlene said.

"Of course we're not," Cuddy said, not giving House the chance to answer. "We've been working together for years. We know how to deal with juggling the personal and the professional. It's working for us."

"Well call me overly hopeful, but I guess I was hoping you could do more than simply 'work'…I was hoping for something a little more…promising." Cuddy had to roll her eyes, glancing at House, halfway warningly and halfway sympathetically.

"Mom…"

"Don't give me that look, Lisa. You know I only have your best interest at heart. Aren't you thinking of your future? Of marriage?"

"_Mom_." Arlene put her hands up defensively. "Is that really all you care about when it comes to House and me? We haven't even been together that long."

Cuddy's mother ignored her, turning instead to House. "I've always wanted what's best for my daughter. So answer me honestly, Greg. Would you marry her?"

The silence at the table was deafening in and of itself.

Finally, without breaking eye contact with Arlene, he said, "No."

"No?" she asked, her eyebrows arching.

"I love her," he said, with just as much conviction. Never once did he look away from her or glance over at Cuddy as he continued: "But I wouldn't marry her. Marriage is something that people do when they think they need some piece of paper issued by the government to validate their relationship. When just being together isn't enough for them. I don't need that. We don't need that. I love Cuddy. But I don't ever plan on marrying her."

He paused and added, while still holding the older woman's gaze, "Or leaving her."

It was only after he'd finished speaking that he turned to face Cuddy, and her expression was one that was just as shocked as her mother's, but for entirely different reasons. Because while Arlene was focusing still on the fact that he had no plans to marry her daughter, the younger Cuddy couldn't stop trying to wrap her mind around the fact that he apparently had no plans to ever leave her. Hearing those words of absolute, unwavering loyalty from him, directed at her, left her speechless, breathless.

"Well…" Arlene began, seemingly holding back an infuriated rampage. "I see…I see…"

"Glad you do," House said, and just like that, the conversation was done. He speared another piece of turkey and chewed it thoughtfully.

The silence in the conversation seemed to carry on forever, though dinner itself continued only for about twenty minutes more before Arlene excused herself. However, Cuddy didn't find herself to be uncomfortable. She kept turning and turning over House's words in her head, and the more she did, the better she felt. With just a few words, House had inexplicably released her mother's grasp of power over her. She felt…free. More than that, she felt safe. She looked over, caught House's eye, and he gave her the smallest hint of a smirk as the sound of Arlene plunking her plate into the kitchen sink echoed in from the other room.

* * *

><p>"Dinner was fantastic," House said as he put on his coat. "Sorry I can't stay longer."<p>

"Can't you?" Cuddy whispered to him, her voice low so that her mother, who was standing several feet away, her arms crossed stiffly over her chest. House said nothing, merely cocked his head to one side for a moment before looking back up at Arlene.

"Nice to meet you," he said, making sure she heard in his tone that he was being far from honest. He didn't have to try very hard to get that message across. She merely nodded in response.

After he'd left and closed the front door behind him, Cuddy paused for a long moment before turning to face her mother.

"He's not one to linger, is he?"

"Only when it counts," she replied. Arlene paused a moment, mainly for impact's sake, Cuddy thought, and then spoke again in a hushed tone. (Why, Cuddy wasn't quite sure; it was as if she was afraid of being overheard by some nonexistent third party, as if speaking too loudly could destroy the fabric of society.)

"Are you really okay with that? With what he said?"

"Yes, I am," Cuddy assured her, standing as straight as she could, even though it made her wince slightly. "I always knew he wasn't the marrying type. It doesn't bother me. Did I dream as a little girl of a perfect wedding and a perfect husband and perfect family? Yes, I did. But I don't need that to be happy, and you shouldn't think of it as a prerequisite."

Arlene stood there for a moment, devoid of a response.

"I'm exhausted," she finally said. "I'm going to bed." As she rounded the corner and went into the guest room, she added, "Leave the dishes in the sink for now. I'll help you with them in the morning."

* * *

><p>Cuddy fell asleep quickly that night, despite the fact that her mind was buzzing with thoughts. She slumbered almost dreamlessly for several hours until a sharp tapping woke her, and she looked around in confusion. It came again, not loud at all, but very distinctive, and it led her to the window.<p>

It was House, standing out on the lawn and throwing pebbles against the glass.

"What the hell?" she asked.

"Thank god this is your room. If you'd been Arlene I was going to throw the biggest rock I could and bolt." Cuddy rolled her eyes to hide her smile. "You gonna let me in?"

"What's stopping you from letting yourself in?"

"Arlene must've moved the key. I was thinking of picking the lock, but I figured you wouldn't appreciate that very much."

"Thanks. Give me a minute. I'll let you in." She disappeared from the window, and reappeared just moments later.

"You know," she added, "The pebbles are largely unnecessary on a ground floor window."

"It was a romantic gesture. I thought standing out here holding a boom box over my head would wake the neighbors."

* * *

><p>She opened the door and let him step into the foyer, leading him carefully back to the bedroom and being extra careful not to wake up her sleeping mother. Once the bedroom door was safely closed behind them, she felt it was alright to talk.<p>

"Why did you come back?"

"Forgot to wrap up my leftovers. And no, that's no a euphemism," he quipped. She quirked an eyebrow. "Haven't seen you all week. Missed you." As he spoke, he let his hand trail up her arm, coming to rest in the crook of her neck, and he leaned down to kiss her. She accepted eagerly and warmly, letting her lips move against his in perfect rhythm. It had been too long since she'd kissed him like this, and it left her aching for more, but she held back, pulling away from him, much to his despair.

"I can't…not now…"

"Why?" he asked, almost whining. "Your stitches have got to be almost healed by now."

"It's not that…My mother's in the other room. I just…after everything that happened, I don't want to take the chance."

"We won't wake her up." She could hear the almost pleading edge to his voice; he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him, but she was adamant.

"Tomorrow," she promised. "Come over tomorrow, after she's gone. We'll…catch up." He smirked at that, and she kissed him once more, a little more chastely this time.

"Can you stay though?" she added. "Tonight?" He nodded, and she smiled, leading him to the bed and letting him strip off his shirt and shoes before climbing under the sheets with her.

It was several minutes before she spoke again, and she wondered as she did if he was already asleep: "House?" His soft hum of acknowledgment told her that he was still conscious, if only just. "What you said at dinner…did you mean it?"

She felt him shift uncomfortably against her.

"Cuddy…" he sighed, suddenly sounding regretful. "You know I'm not exactly the marrying type."

"I know," she assured him. "Not that. I mean…what you said about never leaving me."

He paused a moment before saying, "Yes." She smiled warmly, intertwining his fingers with those of her own good hand.

"Thank you…" she said, and she wasn't quite sure why, but she felt it needed to be said. He said nothing in return, merely grunted in response and slipped off into sleep.

She wasn't far behind.

* * *

><p>House left early the next morning, unaware that he'd woken Cuddy as he slipped from her grasp and got dressed, leaving silently. She didn't mind him leaving, even though it did eerily mirror the early days of their time together, when he would never spend the night, when doing so would mean something more than either of them wanted then. She watched him go through half-lidded eyes and debated whether or not to speak up and say goodbye to him, to assure him that it was alright that he was leaving, that she didn't mind. She decided against it, remaining silent instead. Moments after he'd left, she drifted back to sleep.<p>

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you don't need me to stay longer?" Arlene asked as she shrugged on her coat.<p>

"I'm sure," Cuddy said, trying as hard as she could like she wasn't trying to get her mother out of the house posthaste. "I'm fine on my own. I'll go back to work before too long. And besides, I've got House." Arlene pursed her lips.

"I'm sure," she huffed. She sighed as she picked up her bags. "Don't strain yourself. You work too hard as it is. Barely have time for yourself." Cuddy knew that what her mother meant by that was that she barely had time to find a suitable husband and have two-point-five kids. She formed her lips into a hard line as she bit back all the comments that threatened to bubble up from her throat; they would inevitably only lead to more unpleasantness that she really did prefer to avoid.

"Alright," her mother finally breathed, pulling her in for a still, awkward hug. "Well, keep me informed, Lisa. I expect a call more than just a few times a year. And for God's sake, don't overwork yourself. You're getting stress wrinkles as it is." Cuddy kept a roll of her eyes to herself and herded her mother out the door as subtly as she could.

When she heard her car pull out of the driveway, the sound of the engine fading down the street, Cuddy allowed herself to lean against the front door and let out a relieved sigh, closing her eyes and just telling herself over and over that it was over, that she'd survived, that she didn't have to deal with this again for a good long time. God knew she wasn't going to invite her mother back anytime soon.

The house to herself, she sat down on the couch and sank into the cushions. One more hurdle overcome, and as much as it surprised her, her and House's relationship seemed to have come out the other side not only unscathed, but stronger than ever.

Maybe her mother had done something actually helpful for a change.


	17. Yesterday is History, Tomorrow a Mystery

**Hey guys, this is important: I had to go back and edit some of this chapter (namely the more explicit parts) to make them less racy. Basically, FF has been sweeping through the story archives and removing stories and even whole accounts for explicit sexual content, and I don't want to take ANY chances here. The original version is up on my LiveJournal account, and the story and plot won't be affected at all by this. I just took out the sex, basically. I'm really sorry, guys, but if this story got removed I don't know what I would do. :(**

* * *

><p><strong>Yesterday is History, Tomorrow a Mystery<strong>

Cuddy had a spring to her step that she had forgotten she was capable of as she went to answer the door later that very same evening, and there was a smile on her face as she opened it and welcomed House in.

"Thank you," were the first words out of her mouth as he closed the door behind him.

"For coming back? You knew I would. I would never turn down the promise of sex."

"I never promised you anything," she said slyly. He smirked.

"I'm good at reading subtext. Though if you were actually trying for subtext you could've been a little more subtle-" He was cut off by her lips a moment later as she kissed him hungrily, letting the fingers of her good hand run through his hair as she pulled him to her. He had to admit that he grip was strong despite having only one working arm.

"See, that," he said once she released him, "was nowhere near subtle."

"Wasn't trying for subtle," she replied, now wearing a smirk to match his. "I've been driven to the point of insanity by my mother for the past four days. I need some relief…" She cupped his cheek in her hand and kissed him again, a little more tenderly this time. "…need you."

He was happy to acquiesce. "Well…" he said, "I can't argue with that, can I?" In a manner as gentleman-like as he could accomplish, he bowed his head and gestured for her to lead him down the hall to her bedroom, and she smiled, taking his hand and doing just that.

* * *

><p>His coat was left in the hallway, and she would have taken the time to gripe about him leaving his things everywhere had she not been too busy attempting to remove his belt with one hand. He chuckled, moving to help her.<p>

"Not being very patient, are you?" he said.

"All of that was used up on my mother, House," she replied somewhat breathlessly. "And any more that I might be able to sum up is going to be spent getting this shirt off because it's not exactly easy doing it one-handed."

"Doesn't seem to be stopping you," House pointed out huskily as Cuddy's hand dipped lower to rub against the growing evidence of his arousal in his jeans.

"Little help?" she asked sweetly a few moments later.

"Absolutely." He was careful as he unbuttoned her shirt, pulling it off past her bandaged arm. It was out of the sling for now, but it was still no easy task getting the sleeve past the rough bandages. She bit her lip and grimaced as he pulled a little too hard.

"Okay?" he asked. She nodded and moved her own hand to help him, and finally the shirt came off. He paused a moment, despite the fact that his own physical needs would soon be too difficult to ignore, and he pressed a kiss to her lips, long and lingering.

"Missed you," he said. She smiled, her eyes flitting downward.

"I can tell," she replied a few seconds later. He smirked at her and chuckled, quickly taking off his own shirt before reaching around behind her back and unclasping her bra for her.

When they reached the bed, she remembered something, and she pushed him away reluctantly. She wished she could ignore it, but she knew it had to be addressed before things got any more heated.

"Condom," she breathed. He arched an eyebrow, so she explained, "I don't want to take any chances with my antibiotics." _Now after what almost happened, _she thought, and she could almost hear him thinking it too.

"Uh…" he murmured, his mind clearly running a bit slow since it wasn't the one receiving much of his available blood flow at the moment.

"Top drawer," she said, gesturing at the bedside table to his left. He reached for it quickly and somewhat clumsily took out the box he found there after some rummaging.

"XL," he quipped, ripping the small package open. "You know me so well."

"I have high expectations, yes. Forgive me for not giving you a hand…Only have one to work with, you know."

"No worries, Cuddles," he said as he covered himself. Her eyebrows furrowed at the use of the nickname. He remedied it quickly enough, capturing her lips in a deep kiss again.

* * *

><p>Afterward, he pressed his forehead to hers, both of them opening their eyes simultaneously and smiling breathlessly, red in the face. He sat up and rolled over on his back next to her, his arms loose and pleasantly tired resting at his sides.<p>

After a few moments of silence, he forced himself to get up, removing the condom and tossing it in the trash before crawling back into bed beside Cuddy and burying his nose in the crook of her neck. She let out a chuckle, nuzzling his hair.

"I missed you too," she admitted a moment later.

"Course you did," he quipped. "How could you _not _miss this hot bod?" She laughed lightly, closing her eyes and lying back, relaxing against the pillows and against his warm frame. The wound on her abdomen, though well on its way to being healed, still felt somewhat stiff and sore after what they had just done, but she didn't mind; the pain was tolerable, especially with the endorphins flooding her brain now.

A question popped into her brain, unbidden and so seemingly loaded with all sorts of meanings and potential consequences that she immediately pushed it away, disregarding it, but somehow it forced its way back up and out of her mouth before she could stop it. Something within her just had to know.

"Why are you so against having kids?" she asked. Immediately she felt him stiffen beside her, and she regretted speaking. But she waited for an answer none the less. The silence that followed caused her heart to race, but still she waited, looking up at him expectantly.

"Could you honestly see me fathering children?" he asked, his voice surprisingly level as if she'd just asked him what he'd had for lunch that day. "Little kids running around with my genes? With stubble and a limp?" The image might have made her laugh had his words not sounded so bitter.

He paused, turning over the conversation in his brain.

"Do you…want…"

"No," she quickly said. "I mean…yes…of course I do. Of course I want that. But it's not something that I _need_ to be happy. And we don't have to talk about it now."

"Then why did you bring it up?" he asked.

"Because I was curious, that's all," she reassured him. "I just wanted to know. It's not something we have to discuss now…or any time soon, even." She leaned against him, kissing him on the forehead and pressing herself as close as she could, enjoying the warmth radiating from his body.

"I'm just glad you're here now," she said. He paused for a long moment, but finally, he seemed to let go of the remaining tension, relaxing against her.

But his thoughts still buzzed around his head as they lay there, so he spoke again, just as Cuddy was about to drift off to sleep. The words that came from his mouth surprised even him: "It's not like I never considered it…"

"Really?" Cuddy almost immediately asked, sounding utterly taken off guard. House started to regret saying it, but there wasn't a way to take back the words now, so he simply shrugged it off and continued.

"I mean…of course I…thought…I mean when Stacy and I were together I figured that maybe someday we would…" Cuddy stared, mouth slightly agape as he continued. "But then my leg got screwed up and…well it all just went downhill from there, and I never figured I would get another chance with anyone. And why would I? I mean it's not like I'm exactly the fathering type…" He glanced downward, avoiding her eyes, and she pressed her hand to his shoulder.

"I think you could be…" she said. He met her gaze, finally, and held it for quite some time, despite the fact that he felt the urge to turn away again. He pursed his lips, feeling something flood through him that was unfamiliar and even downright terrifying, but something that he couldn't deny and couldn't cover up inside.

He merely said, "Thanks," and she smiled at him, and then lay down again next to him, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep. He expected to lie awake for some time, turning things over in his head, but surprisingly, he didn't. Sleep came easily that night, his dreams forgotten the moment they ended and unburdened by the thoughts and questions that still raced through his mind.

* * *

><p>House got comfortable in Wilson's office chair and propped his feet up on the desk, knocking a paper weight into the garbage nearby. His friend wasn't present at the moment, but he would be back before too long, and the sooner the better. The conversation he and Cuddy had shared Friday night still weighed on his mind, even though it had been several days before. He needed to talk to someone. No, not quite that; he needed to talk <em>at<em> someone.

The door handle turned, the door opened, and Wilson stepped inside holding a cup of coffee and a muffin. Upon seeing House in his chair, he paused, sighed and glared half-heartedly. House shrugged.

"Morning," he greeted neutrally.

"Morning," Wilson replied. He put the coffee on the desk and stood expectantly next to House, staring down at him. "Out of the chair." House pouted, but Wilson was unmoved.

"Fine," House relented, and he took his feet off the desk, pulling several papers and books off of its surface in the process. He stood and relocated himself to the couch by the window.

"Why are you here?" Wilson asked, his tone giving away the fact that he already knew it was going to be something irksome. "I have a patient consult in twenty minutes so can you make it quick?"

House paused, twirling his cane between his fingers.

"Cuddy wants kids," he finally said, the directness of the statement taking Wilson off-guard. "She brought it up last night."

"Really?" Wilson asked, obviously surprised. "How so?" House shrugged.

"She just wanted to know what I thought about it. You know…down the road."

"And what _do_ you think about it?" Wilson paused a moment, turning the words over in his head before adding with a gesture of his hand, "Down the road?"

"I don't know."

"You've never thought about it? Ever?"

"Of course I have," House interjected. He sighed. "I thought about it just long enough to decide I don't need…don't want to procreate. At all."

"But Cuddy does." House didn't respond; he merely looked away uncomfortably, studying anything that he could around the room to avoid looking back at his friend, but Wilson continued anyway: "You knew that. You had to. You knew she wanted kids from the moment you two got together, and even before that."

"Probably just from the accident," House rationalized, though he was mostly talking to himself and not Wilson. "Near death experience like that makes people realize all the things they never did…things they wanted to do, but put off. Makes them try and make huge life changes without thinking-"

"This isn't a change, House," Wilson pointed out. "I mean, yes, having kids would be big…huge. For anyone, especially you. But Cuddy's not just making this decision out of nowhere. She's thought this through. And if you want to be with her, _really_ be with her…then you're going to have to think it through too."

House paused and twirled his cane a few more times, watching it spin between his palms. Wilson silently observed him, waiting for him to say something. It seemed an almost unbearably long time until he did so.

"I want her to be happy," he said, almost inaudibly. "I don't want her to regret being with me." Wilson's silence was in part a stunned one; he had hoped House would say something that would at least show that he had given this thought, but he hadn't expected such a deep and seemingly painful confession. He'd also had no idea that House's feelings ran so deep for the Dean of Medicine.

He wasn't sure whether to be relieved that House really did seem to be giving this sincere thought, or to be anxious that their relationship was becoming so serious so quickly.

"This isn't something that needs to get in the way of you two staying together right this minute, though," Wilson assured him, hoping that his words would bring at least some small amount of comfort when House already seemed so uncharacteristically distraught. "I mean…she's not…she's not pregnant…is she?" He tread over the words carefully, treading across what he knew could potentially be a verbal minefield. His own heart pounded in his chest as he asked the question.

"No," House said.

"But she did think she was…before."

"Yeah."

"Is that…what got you thinking? I mean, about what you would have done."

"I don't know what I would have done. That's not the point. Nothing happened. I shouldn't have to sit around thinking of imaginary reactions to imaginary scenarios."

"But it's not imaginary. Not anymore, anyway," Wilson pointed out. "Maybe it doesn't need to be something you two have to face now, but somewhere down the line, if you really want to be serious about this, about her, then this subject is going to come up again, and you have to be ready."

"It doesn't have to," House insisted.

"Do you really want to keep telling yourself that? You need to think-"

"I _am_ thinking!" House snapped. "I can't _stop_ thinking! That's the _problem!_" He stood irately, stalking toward the door. He paused. "Who says there's even going to _be_ a future for us anyway? Let alone a future that involves two-point-five kids and a white picket fence."

"House-" Wilson interrupted, standing before House could get the chance to leave. "Don't let this drive you guys apart. You and her…you're good for each other. You shouldn't give that up." House's expression softened, and his shoulders slumped as he sighed.

"I know…" he said almost inaudibly. "I'm not…" He didn't say anything more before turning and leaving Wilson standing there in his office, but Wilson found himself believing what House had said. He rubbed his temples and sank back down into his chair, mulling things over in his own head and trying, rather unsuccessfully, to picture House as a father.

It wasn't an easy thing to visualize, he had to admit. Still, that didn't mean it was impossible…

When he caught himself and registered just what he was thinking, Wilson found himself actually balking at the thought. House? A father? A father to Cuddy's child? It was something he'd never thought could happen, and though it wasn't exactly looming over the imminent horizon, the very possibility of it made his head spin.

He could only imagine what House himself had to be feeling at that very moment.

* * *

><p>Cuddy took a steadying breath as she found herself outside the room she'd avoided for so long before now, and she mentally prepared herself to open the door and step inside. As she reached forward to open the door, she was all too aware of the sling holding her arm and the healing bruises on her body, the evidence of her near-death experience written all over her skin and bones. She didn't want to face them - didn't want to face <em>him <em>- again looking like this; she wanted to appear strong, unshakable. But she couldn't force herself to heal faster, and she couldn't take her arm out of the sling, so she just breathed and told herself that the cast and the bruises and the scrapes didn't matter, that she would have to do this regardless.

She knocked and opened the door, stepping inside.

He looked worse than she did; his bruises were still healing, and he had lost a significant amount of weight since he'd been admitted. She couldn't see them, but she knew there were scars beneath the blankets that covered his lower torso, scars that would never completely heal. She couldn't help but feel a certain amount of sympathy - even empathy - for him, despite all he had put her through.

He had been through a significant amount too, she had to remind herself.

"Reverend Mendel," she greeted. He nodded at her and turned away, avoiding eye contact with her. "It's good to see you're recovering."

"Dr. Cuddy." She looked up at the sound of another voice in the room, and her eyebrows shot up when she saw the reverend's homely wife approaching her from the corner; she'd barely noticed her there. It was as if the woman simply blended into the background, and that was likely intentional; whenever Cuddy saw the women she looked as if she just wanted to disappear. Her expression softened.

"Mrs. Mendel," she greeted, somewhat more amiably. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Mrs. Mendel said hurriedly. "But what about you?" Her eyes poured over Cuddy's face and limbs, taking in the fading bruises covered by makeup, the slightly slouched posture, the crippled arm. "I heard you'd been in some kind of accident."

"Just a car accident. I'm recovering."

"You're certainly dedicated to your work, coming back so soon after that." She averted her gaze and lowered the tone of her voice, sounding almost embarrassed by the comment. "Not that it's any of my business." Cuddy smiled warmly.

"I'm taking it easy. Thank you." Mrs. Mendel smiled back, albeit shyly, and she looked back at her husband. He looked away again.

"He's going against doctor's orders, isn't he? Demanding to be discharged so early…"

"I don't want to spend a minute more in this hospital than I need to," he interrupted.

"Well maybe you should have thought about that before you got blind drunk and stepped off the curb into traffic," Cuddy snapped, and she immediately regretted it. She pursed her lips and took a breath. "I'm sorry…that wasn't appropriate. But you really shouldn't be in such a hurry to get out of here. There's still much more recovery ahead of you. Post-operative care, the threat of infection, physical therapy-"

"I'll do it somewhere else. The only reason I'm here at all is because this was where they took me, and they wouldn't move me sooner-"

"They _couldn't _move you sooner," said his wife, and her interruption surprised both Cuddy and the reverend, judging by his facial expression. Cuddy didn't think she'd ever heard that level of confidence in the woman's voice before. It faded quickly, as Samantha Mendel backed away, seemingly trying to blend into the wall again.

"Why are you here?" Reverend Mendel asked after a moment.

"I came to see if I could convince you to stay a bit longer, for your own health and well-being," she said, reminding herself with every word spoken to be as professional and cordial as possible. "But since that doesn't seem likely…I'll just wish you a speedy recovery." The two of them stared each other down for several long moments, with the reverend's wife standing on the sidelines, a captive spectator.

Finally, he nodded and said, "And you as well." His words were bitter, but they did sound sincere, or at least not truthful. She nodded back, and somehow she felt a weight lifting from her shoulders as she bid the two of them goodbye and left them.

Her heart ached for Samantha Mendel, and surprisingly enough, she found it ached for John Mendel as well. But regardless, she was through letting them dictate the path her life took. She was free of them, free of the guilt and the pain she had experienced from their daughter's death.

Suddenly, the bruises on her skin didn't feel so conspicuous anymore.

Maybe she could finally let them heal.


	18. Merry Christmas to All

**I'll admit this chapter is overdue (as always...) and it's mostly setup for next chapter, but it's important none the less. Hopefully you guys enjoy. Thanks once again for putting up with me. :)**

********Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.********

* * *

><p><strong>Merry Christmas to All...<strong>

"Reverend Mendel left the hospital today."

House looked down at her as she pressed her nose to his bare shoulder.

"Fantastic," he said, letting his head rest back on the pillow. "The farther away he is, the better."

"His wife was with him."

"Is she ever not?"

Cuddy shrugged. "Rarely. But there was something different about her. Every other time I saw her, whether she was with him or not, she just looked so…defeated. This time it was almost like she was stronger somehow."

"Maybe she's finally moving on after her daughter's death," House mentioned. Cuddy hummed softly in response, still deep in thought as she listened the late-night traffic roll by outside of his apartment.

"It was more than that. Like Charlotte dying was actually giving her strength."

"Probably gave her perspective on how much of an indignant douche bag her husband is."

"I doubt she was ever ignorant of that, House."

"She married him, didn't she?"

"Well…people can change. For better and for worse."

"Still, he always had it in him. People don't just spontaneously _become_ douche bags. He was probably just acting like a decent human being until he had the ring on her finger and then he didn't have any reason to hide it any more."

"So you're saying it's more likely that he was deliberately trying to con her into thinking that he was a decent human being than that he changed."

"People don't change," House emphasized. "Once a jackass, always a jackass." Cuddy looked up at him with a smirk.

"And where does that leave you?"

"At least I don't try to hide it. I'm proud of my heritage."

"Your jackass heritage?"

"Like father like son." She was taken aback at that. The mention of his father threw her for a loop, and he seemed to realize it just a moment after speaking, his gaze breaking away from hers and focusing on the far wall instead.

"I don't want you to hide it," she said after a moment of silence. "Well, maybe I wish you would a little more at work, but…if you tried to be all charming and sweet to me all the time I think it would just freak me out." He chuckled and pulled her close, kissing her on the temple.

"It would freak a lot of people out," he said. They lapsed into silence again, but something seemed to be weighing on House's mind. Cuddy didn't pursue it, but feeling him so tense beneath her touch was making her feel uneasy too.

"By the way…" he finally sighed. "My mom called today…"

"Is she alright?"

"She's fine, she just…" He trailed off.

"What?" Cuddy prompted. He sighed and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion.

"She…wants me to come visit her for Christmas."

"Well what's the problem?" Cuddy asked. "You going to go, aren't you?"

"I don't know…"

"House," she said sternly. "She's your mother. She just lost her husband, and she wants to spend the holidays with her only son. You have to go."

"Says who?" Cuddy scoffed.

"Says…common decency. You can't just brush her off. She's your _mother._"

"I know that."

"Then I shouldn't have to give you a list of reasons why you have to go. And I'm _not_ letting you use work as an excuse. If you want to avoid her, you're going to have to tell her the truth as to why you won't go."

House sighed, rolled his eyes and gave her a tired half-glare.

"Don't look at me like that. You know I'm right."

"She wants you to come too." Cuddy furrowed her eyebrows, looking up at him in surprise.

"Me? Why-"

"I've been…keeping in touch with her more since the funeral," House admitted reluctantly. "She was practically over the moon with motherly joy about us being together. She wants you there too, but you don't have to-"

"Of course I'll go," she said with so much conviction that it surprised him.

"Really? I thought you'd be doing your Hanukkah thing with your family or something…"

"My 'Hanukkah thing' can travel with me if I want it to, and I doubt that any God could bring down more wrath on me for it than my own mother would if she knew."

"Why does she need to know?"

"Well…she had mentioned the possibility of me going to spend some time with her over the holiday season…" House gave the news some thought for a moment or two, and then spoke again.

"All the more reason for you to come with me," he said. Cuddy laughed. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you put the idea in my mother's head just to get away from Arlene."

Cuddy's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Why didn't I think of that?" she quipped.

"I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

"Yeah…my charming wit. That's the only reason."

"Well…" he mused, his hand resting possessively on her breast, "one of three." She smiled and hit him playfully on the shoulder before accepting his hungry kiss.

* * *

><p>"It's really coming down, isn't it?" Cuddy asked when she saw Wilson come into the hospital on a chilly December morning about two weeks later. His face was red from the cold, large snowflakes stuck in his damp hair. Despite his scarf, gloves and thick winter coat, he was shivering as he strode across the lobby.<p>

"Not showing any signs of stopping," he confirmed. "It's days like this I wish I was still in school. All of them are closed today."

"Disease doesn't take snow days," Cuddy said, smiling warmly as they walked together toward the elevators.

"Maybe it should start. Where are you headed?" Cuddy pressed the button by the elevator and waited.

"I have some files I need to drop of in the ICU," she said.

"If you want I can take them."

"Thanks, but it's not a problem." The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside. "Besides, I haven't gotten a chance to talk to you in a while. How have you been?"

"I'm alright," he said, though he sounded tired as he spoke, and Cuddy wondered how truthful he was being. "My cousin's coming down to visit for the holidays. It was his idea, but I'll be glad to have some company." Cuddy pursed her lips, touching his arm sympathetically.

"The holiday season is always the worst time at first," she said softly. He met her gaze only momentarily, giving her a curt nod. She felt for him; it was the first holiday season after Amber had died, and she knew from experience that it was painful, seeing everyone so happy, together with family and friends right after losing a loved one.

"What about you?" he said, seemingly eager to change the subject. "Are you doing anything exciting? Any…travel plans?"

"You're horrible at covering up when you know something," Cuddy quipped. Wilson looked flustered.

"I…uh…what?"

"It's fine, really. Did House talk to you?"

"Well…yes…" he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. The elevator doors opened as she laughed, and they stepped out together.

"I'm glad he's being open with you. He needs people he can do that with. It's important. As long as he's not letting you in on every little nasty little detail of our…time together."

"Oh, no. No, of course not," he assured her, his face reddening ever so slightly.

"Anyway…what exactly _did_ he say to you?"

"He told me you two were going to visit his mother over the holidays," Wilson said. Cuddy easily picked up on the tiniest bit of disbelief in his voice as he spoke. He looked at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to confirm that it was, indeed true.

"Well, he told you the truth," she said. "We're leaving on the twenty-second to spend Christmas with his mother." She paused, and when Wilson didn't respond, she continued: "It'll be nice to get away. After everything that happened I'd honestly love to get out of Princeton for a while, and not just for work. Besides, it was either this or spend Hanukkah with my mother, so…"

"I didn't even know House talked to his mother that much," Wilson admitted. "I mean, I know he's been more open with her since his dad died, but…"

"I think it's great. At least he has an emotionally stable mother. Not everyone can claim that, and he should let her into his life where he can."

"Yeah…and I don't think I ever asked. How _was_ Thanksgiving with your mom?" She gave him a look that conveyed more than her words ever good, and he grimaced. "That bad?"

"I barely managed to stay sane. And it didn't help that I was on post-operative pain meds and only had one working arm at the time."

"How long until you have the use of both again?"

"About four more weeks to go. I doubt I'll have the cast off by New Year's, but with any luck, I should be free by Valentine's Day."

"Hope so," Wilson said, the two of them parting ways and walking in opposite directions down the hall.

"You and me both," she called over her shoulder.

* * *

><p>Cuddy got out of the car and stretched. The six and a half hour drive had been exhausting, and they'd arrived late since they'd had to stop several times along the way so House could rest his leg. She could hardly blame him; if she was uncomfortable after so long in the car, she couldn't imagine how he must have been feeling. She'd taken the wheel halfway there, but he'd insisted he take over again just two hours later for the last leg of the trip, and he'd been so adamant about it that she'd agreed, even though she knew his thigh had to still be giving him trouble. Pain was etched on his face as he got out of the car, but he tried to hide it when his mother opened the front door of the house and came out to greet them.<p>

"You alright?" Cuddy said discretely as Blythe made her way down the porch steps.

"Fine," he insisted curtly. "Hi, Mom."

"Greg…" Blythe breathed happily as she embraced her son. "I'm so glad you could make it. It's so good to see you." She seemed elated at the sight of her son, though there was a tinge of worry to her voice as well, and just a bit of melancholy.

"And Lisa," she said, turning toward Cuddy and wrapping her arms around her as well. Her voice took on a more excited tone. "I can't tell you how wonderful it is that you could make it too."

"It's good to be here," Cuddy replied with a smile. She couldn't hide the exhaustion in her voice from the long drive, and the biting cold wasn't helping either.

"Well, come in please! Come inside. It's freezing out here…" They made their way across the modest lawn, semi-frozen grass crunching beneath their feet underneath a thin dusting of snow. Everything shimmered in the ice-covered twilight, a few stray snowflakes beginning to fall around them.

The house was warm and welcoming, but even though it was not a large home, it seemed too big for Blythe alone. Framed pictures covered the walls: a young man in a military uniform, who Cuddy assumed was Blythe's late husband, stoically held a much more youthful version of House's mother by his side; a young woman, the same one from the previous picture, stood swathed in a flowing wedding dress, flowers in hand and a radiant smile on her face; a young boy (God, was that really him…?) played with a model car, a pensive, curious expression on his round, innocent face.

"It hasn't been quite the same since John died, I'm afraid," Blythe said, sadness evident in her voice. "But I've kept it good and tidy. Actually, I'm planning on moving before too long. Not far, just somewhere a little more…well, suited for me to live on my own." Cuddy cast a sympathetic glance over at her, seeing the older woman's eyes glazed with a thin sheen of tears that she refused to let fall. They receded quickly as she put on a tired smile.

"You didn't tell me you were planning on moving," said House, discretely tucking the orange pill bottle in his hand back into his pocket after swallowing a couple of Vicodin out of sight of his mother.

"It won't be anytime too soon," Blythe said, moving past them and into the kitchen. "I'll keep you in the loop if you like. It's just…well…since your father died, this house just seems so…so…"

"Empty," Cuddy said. Blythe looked at her and smiled.

"Yes…I guess that's right."

"My father died when I was in med school," Cuddy explained. She smiled sympathetically and shrugged to light the mood that seemed to have taken on a rather morbid feel. "I kind of know the feeling."

"Yes…well…" Blythe rubbed her hands together and let out a quick breath. "Please make yourselves at home. I have the guest bedroom all made up for you, right down the hall. I'll get dinner started, then we can really catch up."

* * *

><p>Snow fell heavily outside by the time the three of them sat down to dinner. The curtains on the dining room windows were pulled back, offering a stunning view of the nighttime snowstorm.<p>

House stretched his leg under the dining room table as the three of them sat down, but it offered much less relief than he had hoped; his muscles still ached and throbbed deeply, and he discretely massaged his thigh. He'd taken another dose of Vicodin before sitting down to eat, but it didn't seem to be doing as much as he would have liked. The pain was taking away his appetite, and he could tell that both Cuddy and his mother noticed.

Still, thankfully, neither of them said much about it, apparently sensing his unwillingness to talk about his pain.

"Do you mind me asking how your arm's doing?" Blythe asked Cuddy as the radio in the other room crooned holiday carols. Cuddy glanced down at her bandaged arm as Blythe gestured towards it. "Greg mentioned some kind of car accident. Are you doing alright?"

"Better, thanks," said Cuddy. "It wasn't anything too major…" She spared a glance over at House, who arched an eyebrow at her. Not major? That statement couldn't have been less accurate, and she knew it. Still, she didn't know exactly how much he'd told his mother when it had happened, and there was no need to worry the woman when she'd already been through so much recently. "I mean, it could have been a lot worse."

"I'm sure," Blythe agreed. "Well I'm glad you're alright, or getting there anyway. Still, I wish you didn't have to deal with all this over the holidays. And speaking of which, I forgot to wish you a happy Hanukkah." Cuddy smiled at House's mother, letting out a breathy chuckle of gratitude.

"Thank you," she said.

"I hope coming here didn't interfere with any other plans you had with your family."

"No, not at all," Cuddy assured her. "I'm more than happy to be spending the holidays here." Again, she glanced over at House, and he had a pained look on his face, but he nodded and offered a small half smile. Still, both Cuddy and Blythe worried when they saw the discomfort etched into his features.

"You're awfully quiet, Greg," said Blythe. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he said curtly. "Just the drive here…wasn't exactly easy on my leg."

"I'm sure…" she said. She paused, and the silence hung over them like a smoky fog. "Are you-"

"I'm _fine_," House emphasized harshly, and the moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Blythe looked away, down at her food, falling silent again. Guilt roiled within him, and he sighed. "I mean…you don't need to worry about me," he said in a softer tone. "I'm glad to be here, Mom." It was odd for Cuddy, hearing him speak so tenderly. He caught her eye, and she saw a spark of apology there nestled amidst the pain and guilt.

Blythe looked up and smiled, apparently putting his snap behind her and forgetting about it, and she said, "I'm glad to have you."

* * *

><p>"Greg."<p>

House looked up from his suitcase at the sound of his name. It was Blythe who peeked through the door of the guest bedroom, knocking softly on the painted wood. He straightened up, unable to help placing a hand on his thigh as a pang of discomfort shot through it. He suppressed the expression of pain that threatened to cross his face. Blythe glanced down as she approached him, and he knew that she could sense his pain anyway. He wasn't sure if that was supposed to make him feel better or worse.

"You're in pain..." she said, a sad smile on her face as she finally looked up at him.

"It's okay," he said. It was an automatic response, and he was sure she knew perfectly well that he was lying. She always could. It drove him nuts.

"Yes...well..." She met his eyes and reached up to straighten his collar, such a motherly gesture, warm and loving. "You know I'm glad you came here. It can't have been easy for you, but after everything that happened this year, I..." _I didn't want to spend this Christmas alone._ He knew that was how she wanted to finish that sentence, but she didn't say the words.

"Mom..." he said. "It's fine. Really." He reached up and took her hand that was resting on his collar. Blythe blinked back a few tears and smiled again, taking her hand back gently.

"Your father was never the biggest fan of the holidays," Blythe admitted. "But it still feels strange not having him here...not putting up his stocking over the fireplace..." She broke down, letting out a choked sob, and House sighed. He hated to see his mother cry. He didn't know if there was a man on earth who didn't hate it. He stepped forward and embraced her, and she rested her head on her son's chest, chuckling through her tears.

"I'm sorry..." she said, pulling away.

"Don't be."

"Anyway...get some rest. Are you comfortable here in the guest room?"

"Fine, Mom," he said, allowing himself a small smile, one that she returned.

"Good, then...goodnight." She turned, looking over her shoulder as she left the room and adding, "And I'll need your help tomorrow getting the Christmas ornaments on the top of the tree!"

He turned back to his suitcase, and he was digging through his socks when he heard someone else come up behind him, and a pair of arms snaked their way around his shoulders, slender fingers massaging his neck.

"You're a good son," she said, and her words made him stop, made something tense in his chest. He merely sighed. "I mean it. And I won't dwell on it or anything, but I just want you to know...you're a good son." He turned and faced her, and, wordlessly, he leaned in and placed a kiss on her lips. She cupped his cheek in her free hand and stroked her thumb against his stubble. When she pulled away, she was smiling.

"Thanks," he said, almost inaudibly.

"You're welcome," she replied. "Now...let's get to bed...I'm exhausted." She saw him smirk and gave him a cautionary glance. "Down, boy."

"I know, I know. Not exactly turned on by the idea of my mother being down the hall, thanks." She chuckled, patted him on the chest and led him to bed. As they lay they, she gently massaged his leg until he fell asleep, which he did much quicker than she'd thought he would; his exhaustion must have outweighed his pain.


	19. And to All a Bad Night

**Finally, a semi-timely update. And this chapter is slightly longer as well. Also quite important. I had a great time writing it. :)**

**I'd like to give a shout-out to RochelleRene, for being just generally awesome. If you're a Huddy fan and you haven't read any of her fics...go do so! They're fantastic! **

****Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.****

* * *

><p><strong>...And to All a Bad Night<strong>

Outside, it didn't look much like Christmas; there was no snow falling, but in its place, the skies had opened up and delivered a persistent freezing rain that made the night look bleak and dreary. Inside,however, it was everything that was ever advertised on holiday cards: the Christmas tree sparkled in the light of a warm, welcoming fire in the fireplace; mugs of cooling hot chocolate sat unfinished on the coffee table, replaced in the hands of their previous owners by glasses of red wine; holiday carols floated jovially down the hall from the radio in the kitchen.

Cuddy draped her newly-unwrapped scarf around her neck. "You didn't have to-"

"Oh, stop," said Blythe. "I wanted to. It's the holiday season, for goodness' sake!"

"Thank you," Cuddy laughed. The wine was making her feel pleasantly chipper. As she wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck, feeling cozy in its soft embrace, she glanced over at House; he was sprawled on the couch, looking content.

Cuddy put down her wine glass with an audible yawn. "It's getting late. And I think this wine is starting to go to my head...If you don't mind I think I might go to bed." She stood up from the couch.

"That's probably not a bad idea," said Blythe. "I lost track of how late it was getting...Go on to bed, Lisa. We probably won't be far behind." Cuddy smiled and left the mother and son alone. She was tired, yes, but more than that she wanted to give them time to speak on their own. House had been so quiet since they'd arrived; he needed some time to actually speak to his mother.

When Cuddy had left, House stood and started to follow her, but Blythe gently stopped him, standing in his path. She smiled to herself, and he looked at her inquisitively.

"Before you go to bed," she said, "I have one more Christmas present to give to you."

"Mom, you don't-"

"Don't you start, too," Blythe interrupted. She pressed the palm of her hand against House's cheek, smiling up at him, her gaze warm and loving. "It's special. Something I've wanted you to have for a while." Silently, she slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a small box wrapped in green paper. It was topped with a delicate gold bow. She handed it to him, and he took it and stared at it, trying to analyze the weight of it in his hand.

Before he even opened it, he felt his heart skip. Beneath the paper he could feel the box's smooth velvet surface, and it was deceptively heavy for an object its size. He looked up at his mother, and she merely motioned for him to unwrap it.

"Go on," she prompted with a smile. "Open it." Gingerly, he did, removing the bow and peeling back the paper. The box was a deep red color, and when he opened it, slowly, carefully, the firelight glinted on the gems set in the ring nestled inside.

"It was my old engagement ring," she explained, staring at the ring fondly. "Your father gave it to me…now, well…I think it's time I passed it on to you." A few tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, reflecting the soft orange light of the fire like the glittering diamond and sapphires that sat side by side on the ring in House's hand.

"Mom…" he sighed, looking up at her.

"Don't get me wrong," Blythe was quick to say, "I'm not saying you need to rush things. You don't have to give it to her now or even ever if you don't feel like it's right for you." She shrugged. "It was going to be part of your inheritance anyway…I just felt like I could give it to you a little early."

He stared at her, gratitude, confusion and a deep, aching fear all coiling together inside his body, sending a vague chill up his spine despite the warmth of the fire in the room. His leg throbbed.

"Mom…I can't…" He tried to hand it back to her, but she was having none of it; she pushed his hand away.

"You will," she insisted. She enclosed his hand in hers, closing the box inside his fingers as she did. "You should see the way you two look at each other. Your eyes…when you look at her…they're just so…" She took a deep breath, her tears flowing freely now, although she barely paid them heed. "They just light up, Greg. They just…" She sighed heavily, but her smile remained, despite her tears. She wiped those away.

"Take it, Greg," she said softly. "Do what you feel you should with it. Whether that's keeping it on a shelf somewhere or giving it to someone you love…" She glanced over at the door to the hallway where Cuddy had disappeared. There was still no sign of her. "Just promise me you won't pawn it off somewhere or anything…it is quite special."

"I'd never," House said with more conviction than he'd expected to have in his own voice. Blythe smiled.

"I know you wouldn't. I know…" She patted him on the shoulder and turned from him, going to the fireplace and extinguishing the flames until only embers remained behind the grate. "Goodnight, Greg," she said. She looked back at him over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hall. "Merry Christmas."

* * *

><p>"What did your mom want?" Cuddy asked as House opened the door to the guest bedroom. He glanced over at his coat draped over the chair in the corner, and he discretely slipped the ring box into the side pocket, blocking her view so she wouldn't see. No need to get her thinking the wrong thing…<p>

He came over to the bed and sat down beside her, trying to think of what he should say. "She just…" he began, but Cuddy cut him off.

"Never mind," she said, placing a hand on his chest and smiling. "It's none of my business." He nodded, inwardly feeling relieved that she didn't delve further, and he lay back on the bed, massaging his leg as he turned off the light. He rested his other hand on his stomach and stared up at the ceiling.

"I'm having a nice time," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. The rain poured with renewed vigor outside, pattering loudly down on the glass of the window. No cars drove by on the street; everyone was tucked away in their homes for Christmas night, sheltered by crackling fires and thick blankets and loving family from the weather.

"I'm glad," he said, though his voice was tinged with pain. His leg was beginning to ache worse than ever; he told himself it was the freezing rain making it hurt.

"Your leg?" she asked. She didn't press further than that, knowing that too many questions about his leg and his pain annoyed him. And his mother had been looking at him with worry since they'd arrived; she could tell that it had been getting to him even though he was doing his best not to let it show for Blythe's sake.

He nodded. "It's fine. Just the rain…" He reached over to the bedside table for his pills, tapped two into his palm and swallowed them. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Cuddy purse her lips in that way she did when she was withholding comment or trying not to appear fazed when something bothered her. She was good at that, but not good enough that House didn't notice.

"I just want to make sure that you're…" She paused. The words, _that you're okay_ didn't pass her lips. In the end, she thought better of it. "…that you're not regretting coming here."

It was an interesting choice of words, House thought. Certainly it was one that he hadn't been expecting. Did he regret coming here? No, not precisely. Yes, it was difficult and draining to have his mother doting on him and worrying about him day after day, but he'd been expecting that, and he could only blame her for it so much after the death of her husband. But then there was that ring…House glanced over at his coat on the chair in the corner. It wasn't something that should have bothered him so much, he knew, but that didn't stop it from doing just that. He couldn't help it. The very thought of that innocent-looking piece of jewelry in his coat pocket filled him with…dread? Insecurity? Nervousness? Doubt? He just couldn't put his finger on the emotions that roiled within him at the thought of the ring, and that made them even stronger and more unpleasant.

His leg seemed to hurt worse, despite the Vicodin, but he knew Cuddy wouldn't be able to hide her disapproval if he took more in front of her now, and perhaps she was right not to. He had taken a fair amount already since coming to Virginia, he had to admit. But he needed it for the pain. He wasn't just taking it because he felt like it. A lot of pain called for a lot of narcotics.

Still, he doubted Cuddy would buy that excuse, so he left the pill bottle where it was, turning to kiss her on the head as he lay his head on the pillow beside her.

"Don't regret it," he said, pretending to sound sleepy so the conversation wouldn't last too much longer. He felt her smile against his arm as she pressed her nose against his shoulder.

"Okay," she said. "G'night…"

"'Night."

He waited until she was asleep, until he could feel her deep, steady breaths against his neck before he carefully pushed her away, gently bringing her head to rest against the pillow. She hummed softly in her sleep, burrowing down into the soft surface and letting out a sigh of contentment. When he was sure she wouldn't wake up again, he reached over to the bedside table one more time and took two more Vicodin, lying down and closing his eyes, listening to the sound of the rain outside as he waited for them to take effect.

They didn't.

The more he thought about that ring in his coat pocket and about what his mother had said to him earlier, the more his leg ached, and no amount of Vicodin, it seemed, could take the edge off. It became horribly uncomfortable to lie down the way he was, so he sat up. His leg cramped painfully, and he bit back a groan.

He had to stand up, and, after grabbing his pills off of the bedside table, he limped to the bathroom. It was slow going, and he didn't bother to turn on the lights. He sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and swallowed two more pills. It was too many; he couldn't deny that, but his pain demanded it. He rested his forehead on the heels of his hands, his skin feeling clammy.

He started to feel queasy and dizzy, and he slid down off of the toilet, leaning against the cool porcelain lip of the bathtub, one arm slung across the toilet bowl. He rested his forehead against the hard surface and closed his eyes. The room spun.

* * *

><p>Cuddy had a feeling that something wasn't right when she woke up and suddenly found herself completely alert and awake. The rain outside had turned to snow at some point since she'd fallen asleep, and the house was chilly. The space beside her in the bed was empty, and she sat up, looking around in the dark for House, but not finding him anywhere.<p>

She turned and looked at the bedside table and noticed his Vicodin was missing, and suddenly the nagging feeling she'd gotten in the pit of her stomach that something wasn't right multiplied tenfold.

She threw the blankets aside, ignoring the cold that stung the exposed skin of her legs and arms as she went over to the bathroom. It was dark inside, but the door was slightly ajar, and she could hear the sound of someone breathing heavily inside. Her heart pounding with worry as she opened the door and turned on the light.

House shielded his eyes from the light as he glanced up at her. He was sweating profusely, his skin pale and clammy. His head swayed from side to side, and his eyes couldn't seem to focus on her despite the fact that he was looking straight up at her. The bottle of Vicodin was by his side, open on the floor, its contents spilling onto the tiles.

As House's eyes adjusted to the light, he tried to focus on Cuddy's blurry form and wondered to himself why she was wearing a flowing white wedding dress.

"Why are you wearing that dress?" he slurred.

"House…" she sighed as she knelt next to him. "Oh, you idiot…How much did you take?"

"You shouldn't be on the floor in that dress…you'll get it dirty, won't you?" His head lolled from side to side as he struggled to remain focused on her, and she cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look her in the eye.

"House, look at me. How much did you take?" She enunciated her words as best she could, but they just weren't getting through. Pressing her fingers to his neck, she felt for his pulse; it was slow and weak. She cursed under her breath, keeping his head in her hands as she turned and called for Blythe.

House's mother appeared in the doorway after hearing Cuddy's increasingly urgent cries for help, looking flustered. Her eyes locked on House, and she paled.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Blythe, I need you to stay calm," said Cuddy, her instinct as a doctor kicking in and keeping her level-headed despite her racing mind and heart. "We need to get House to the hospital. I think he's overdosed."

"Overdosed…" Blythe breathed, leaning her weight against the doorframe.

"Help me get him up," Cuddy ordered. Blythe looked lost and confused, her eyes darting from her son to his girlfriend and back again. "_Blythe._" She snapped out of her momentary catatonia, coming to Cuddy's aid and helping her lift House to his feet. Cuddy supported him, draping one of his arms around her shoulder.

"Shouldn't we call an ambulance?" Blythe asked. Cuddy shook her head.

"It would take them longer to get here and back to the hospital in this weather than it would for me to get him there on my own. Come on. Get his coat."

* * *

><p>"Mom…"<p>

"I'm right here, Greg," Blythe assured him. She stroked his hair. His head rested in her lap in the back seat of the car. As much as Cuddy wanted to look back and make sure he was okay, she kept her eyes focused on the road ahead, using all of her concentration to see through the snow and ice.

But even without looking back at him, the sound of his voice alone, so fragile and weak and _scared_, was enough to make her heart ache. She resisted the urge to press harder on the accelerator; she'd be doing them no favors if she got them into a car accident on the way to the hospital.

"Turn right here," said Blythe, and Cuddy did so wordless, pulling up to the entrance of the ER. She got herself unbuckled, and she and Blythe together helped House out of the car.

"I'll take him in," Cuddy said. "Can you park the car and come find us inside?" Blythe nodded, brushing her hand against House's cheek one more time before she turned and got back into the driver's seat.

* * *

><p>"Do you know how much he took?" Cuddy pursed her lips as she handed the pill bottle over to the ER doctor standing before her. He pulled a pair of thick-rimmed reading glasses from his coat pocket and placed them on the bridge of his nose, studying the label on the side.<p>

"I don't know exactly," she admitted.

"There's still a good amount here," he said. "And this prescription was filled about a week ago."

"Some of it spilled too," she added. The doctor took off his glasses and put them away, handing the bottle back to her.

"It seems like his symptoms aren't too serious," he said. "They shouldn't be very dangerous anyway. We'll keep him under observation, but the drugs should just work their way out of his system soon enough." Cuddy murmured a quick thank you, but as the doctor turned and started to leave, she stopped him.

"Can I…see him?" she asked. Though she was ready to demand it if necessary.

"He's still very disoriented," said the doctor.

"I know," Cuddy said. She stood up a little straighter. Despite her tired, hastily thrown together appearance, she was determined to assert the authority she was used to exercising. Call it a force of habit, she thought. "I'm a doctor too. I know what's going on, and I know what to expect. Just a few minutes." She paused, and after a moment, she added, "Please."

The doctor relented with a sigh and gestured for her to follow him down the hall.

* * *

><p>"You idiot…" she breathed as she took his hand. He still looked hazy and confused as he turned and looked over at her. He was sprawled out on a hospital bed, a pulse oximeter clamped on his finger, an IV in his arm. She wondered if he was even sure about where she was.<p>

"You're still in that damn dress," he slurred. She sighed.

"I like to look nice when I show up in an ER at 2am," she quipped. He let out a breath, and she wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a sigh or some kind of laugh.

"I uh…I took too much, didn't I?" he asked a few moments later.

"Yeah," she replied with a nod.

"My leg hurt…"

"Oh, well that makes it okay, then." She stroked her thumb over his hand and felt his fingers squeeze hers ever so slightly. She glanced over her shoulder. The ER buzzed from behind the curtain that separated them from the rest of the patients. "I need to go talk to your mom."

"She's here?" he asked, guilt evident on his face despite his groggy mental state.

"Of course she's here. She's your mother, House. She was worried sick about you." He turned from her, not wanting to hear any more about his mother now when it only caused him pain. She sighed again and let go of his hand.

"I'll be back in a second, okay?" she promised. She saw him nod, if only vaguely.

Blythe was in the waiting room, nervously fiddling with her purse when she saw Cuddy come out to her. She stood expectantly.

"I talked to the doctors already," she said. "Did you see him?"

"Yeah, he's doing okay…" Cuddy said. "I'm sorry you had to deal with this-"

"Don't be silly," Blythe interrupted. "He's my son. I'm not going to leave him like this." The two of them sat down as Blythe sighed heavily. "I remember once when he was ten…he split his lip open when he fell down the stairs. His father drove, and I sat with him in the back seat. I was covered in blood by the time we got to the hospital." She chuckled. "People must have thought I'd committed some kind of murder." Cuddy smiled at that as well, putting a tentative hand on Blythe's shoulder.

"Maybe you should go home…" she suggested. Before the older woman could argue, she continued, "He's going to be fine, but he's probably going to have to stay until morning. You should go home, get some rest…he'll need you more later than he does now."

"I'm fine," Blythe insisted.

"I know you are," Cuddy said. "But you have to remember I am a doctor too. And if you were any other patient's mother, I'd be telling you the same thing. I can call you when I know more." Blythe pursed her lips, considering what Cuddy was saying. She knew Cuddy was right; there wasn't much she could do for her son here. She felt a swell of emotion in her chest and looked up at the younger woman sitting beside her.

"I guess he has someone else to look after him now, doesn't he?" she said. Cuddy looked down, smiling even as her eyes burned at the comment. She pushed the tears back, and when she regained eye contact with Blythe, the older woman was smiling warmly. "Anyway…If you promise me you'll keep me informed…"

"I will."

"…then I'll go. Call me as soon as you can. Don't bother waiting until a decent hour. Let's be honest, I'm not going to sleep much tonight anyway." She let out a somewhat sad laugh, and Cuddy placed a hand on her arm as she stood.

"Oh, and I almost forgot. Greg left his coat in my car. Could you hold on to it?" She handed Cuddy the worn jacket as she stood, and with a final look of gratitude, Blythe left. Cuddy sat down with a sigh, folding the coat in her lap, and she felt something in the pocket that she couldn't identify, small and hard, vaguely box-like in shape. She didn't want to snoop, but given the circumstances…She reached inside.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Maybe it wasn't what she thought it was. It was a ring box, yes, but it could have just been a regular old ring. Didn't have to be anything special. Maybe there was nothing inside at all. Despite the fact that part of her commanded that she put the box back, leave it unopened, she had to know.

With quivering fingers, she opened the box.

She saw a glint of metal, a splash of color from the gemstones in the center, and she snapped the box closed again, not giving herself time to take in details. She couldn't bring herself to look at it. It was beautiful, to be sure; she could tell even from that quick glance. But this was no ordinary piece of jewelry.

Her heart pounding, she put the ring box back in House's coat pocket.

* * *

><p>He was released later that morning, after the sun had risen and the snow outside had stopped falling. It was against doctor's orders; they'd recommended he stay a bit longer, but the drugs had worked their way out of his system, and besides being a bit shaky and exhausted from slipping in and out of consciousness without getting any real sleep, he was recovering from his Christmas night ordeal. Blythe came back to the hospital, looking as tired as ever, and she picked them up in the hospital parking lot.<p>

The drive was mostly silent, and when they got back to the house, Blythe went ahead of them, to unlock the front door, she said. But Cuddy knew what she was really doing: the older woman sensed that they needed a moment alone outside the sterile walls of the ER.

"You don't have to feel so ashamed," Cuddy said, grasping House's upper arm. He hadn't been able to bring himself to look his mother in the eye since being discharged.

"Can't exactly help it," he admitted gruffly. "She's worried sick…"

"Of course she is. She's your mother. It's her job to worry about you." She smiled a bit, but House didn't. She leaned closer. "I know it wasn't intentional-"

"Of course it wasn't intentional. But I did it. That's what matters."

"If you don't stop beating yourself up over this you're never going to get better."

He got a thoughtful look on his face, and she noticed his hand wandering toward his coat pocket. Her heart leapt. But his fingers merely brushed over the surface of the fabric, as if making sure that something was still there, nestled inside, and then they made their way to his thigh as he massaged his sore leg. Cuddy let out an inaudible breath of relief.

"I want to get better," he said, almost in a whisper, as if he was talking to himself and not to her.

"I know you do," Cuddy assured him. "I can help you. Let me help you."

"You can't…"

"House-"

"No, I mean it," he said, looking her in the eye, his gaze deep and searching. "You can't. Not by yourself. This will happen again. I don't want it to, but it's almost inevitable. I'm a drug addict, Cuddy. It's what drug addicts do."

A long silence passed, and Cuddy opened her mouth to say something else, to protest against his insistence that he was beyond helping, but he spoke again before she could. And what he said left her reeling:

"I want to go to rehab."


	20. 30 Days part I

**School, life, homework, obligatory excuses. Finals are approaching and my life is basically a tornado of essays and study guides. Please pardon my academia.**

****Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.****

* * *

><p><strong>30 Days (part I)<br>**

Day One

"Are you sure about this?"

"Of course I'm sure." House sounded almost irate as he took off his coat and slung it over his arm. He hadn't taken any Vicodin since the previous night, and his leg was aching already, the first little nagging sensations of withdrawal beginning to tingle uncomfortably at the back of his mind.

A slender blonde woman waited by the door, her hands clasped in front of her waist. She eyed them patiently, quietly waiting for them to finish their last goodbyes before House checked into the facility. The Running Stream rehab center, to be exact; the irony of the place's name was unbearable.

It was a small facility, just outside the city. It was surrounded by trees and greenery planted in carefully groomed rows around the perimeter of the grounds, though the plants, except for the evergreens, were all bare in the winter. The air was chilly, the atmosphere quiet and peaceful. Still, there was something tense and restrictive about the place.

Within the pale yellow walls of the waiting room, Cuddy lightly stroked House's arm, granting him a small, supportive smile.

"I'm proud of you," she said, pulling him into a one-armed hug.

As he wrapped his arms somewhat half-heartedly around her, he glanced over at the opposite wall. A bright, richly colored sunset shone out from the poster there, the words "Hope, Perseverance, Success" printed under it in sharp Times New Roman. That combined with the pain in his leg and the growing urge to have his pills was making him slightly nauseous.

"Thanks," he said apathetically.

"I'll visit you," she offered. He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, don't. I'm just gonna be vomiting and sweating through my sheets for the next few days. Anything but sexy." Despite his joking tone of voice, a real fear was beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach at the thought of the imminent detox that was waiting for him.

"I'll visit you," Cuddy insisted again. She patted him on the shoulder, emphasizing her determination. House knew there was nothing he could say that would stop her from fulfilling that promise, and he had to admit that he was grateful for that. If he was going to be curled up in pain in an empty, cold, unfamiliar room for the next several days, it would be good to have somebody in his corner to lift his spirits. Perhaps it would dull the agony.

The nurse was inching her way closer to them, still waiting patiently, but becoming more insistent. It was time.

"See you soon," he said, grabbing his bags from the floor beside him with one hand, the fingers of his other tightening around his cane.

"Okay," replied Cuddy, though her brow was furrowed in worry, her smile tinged with sadness.

The nurse held the door open for him, and he stepped through. Then it closed behind him, locking with a heavy click, and Cuddy was left alone in the tiny room.

* * *

><p>"How much do you know about our program here, Greg?"<p>

The heavyset, dark-skinned woman on the other side of the mahogany desk eyed him with intense green eyes. The name plate before her gleamed in the fluorescent light: _Lauren Roberts_. The bookshelf behind her was crammed full of books in various muted colors; he could make out some of their titles: The Psychology of Addiction, Overcoming the Vices of Narcotics Addiction, Beyond Rehab: Staying Clean and Staying Healthy. He only stopped letting his gaze wander when the woman called his name again, her painted lips pursed.

"I'm assuming you're going to give me the regular spiel regardless of how much I know already. Why don't we just skip to that?"

Lauren clasped her hands in front of her, resting her weight on her elbows as she leaned toward him.

"Alright then. We offer a thirty-day rehabilitation program to help you overcome your addiction, starting with a full detox. I understand you have an injury…" She gestured at his leg, and he reflexively put his hand on his thigh and massaged it. "You'll be put on a regimen of non-narcotic pain killers in lieu of your regular medication." She leaned back again, glancing over his file as she continued what had to be an incredibly well-rehearsed speech. "After thirty days, when your condition has been re-assessed and you've been deemed fit for release, you'll be permitted to leave this facility, but you will have to complete at least three months of out-patient therapy while you learn to apply the coping skills you'll learn here in your regular routine."

"I get it. I play nice for the next month, I get to graduate and move on to the real world."

"It's not about playing nice, Greg. It's about getting better."

"Which I intend to do." The two of them maintained eye contact through the next several moments of silence.

"Why did you come here, Greg?" Lauren asked. House sighed. "I get the feeling this isn't the first time you've attempted to get clean."

"How do you know?"

"I've been doing this for a while," she said. She smiled slyly. "That, and I read your file. You entered a detox and rehab program a few years ago, but never saw it through. What makes this time different? How do I know you're going to stick with it?"

House remained silent, twirling his cane between his palms. His leg hurt, his head was foggy, and it was making it hard to think straight. But the answer to that question revealed itself surprisingly quickly.

"Because…" he began, "Because I actually have a reason to this time."

He wondered if Cuddy had left yet. If she was still down the hall or if she'd already gone out into the cold, gotten into her car and driven away. In a way, he hoped she had gone already; the last thing he wanted was for her to waste her time sitting there worrying about him.

"That's good," said Lauren. "You should have something to fight for, a reason to keep going with things get hard. This won't be easy, Greg. We'll help you all we can, but we can only give as much as you're willing to give back."

"I get it," he said. His stomach felt uneasy, and he was starting to worry that if she didn't let him go soon, he might vomit all over the polished surface of her desk.

"Alright," she said. She called for the nurse, and the blonde woman from before entered the room, accompanied by a taller figure, a man with broad shoulders and short-cropped dark hair. "We'll get you all settled in. When the drugs are out of your system, you'll be permitted to join in group therapy activities, but for now, you'll be in solitary. Good luck, Greg." She reached out as the nurses flanked him, and he took her manicured hand in his rough, clammy one and shook it half-heartedly.

Day Three

He wanted to die.

As he spit bitterly into the toilet bowl, resting his head on the cool surface and fighting off another wave of nausea that sent a chill down his spin, he honestly wished that death would come and take him. Everything hurt, everything was shaking, he was swinging violently between burning and freezing with almost nothing in between, and his stomach twisted in on itself in ways he'd never thought were possible.

He groaned and flushed the toilet, the sour smell of sweat and vomit causing him to gag. The bathroom was hot and stifling, but he lacked the strength to get up, and he couldn't be sure whether he'd be able to make it back to his bed at all before he'd be sick again. Instead, he closed his eyes and took deep, steadying breaths through his dry mouth.

God, he could go for some water.

Suddenly, he realized he could hear voices approaching through the door of his small room. "Keep your visit short," he heard, though the voice was muffled and hushed. "He's still very weak."

"I know," came a reply, and this voice was familiar. He glanced up through the cracked open door of the bathroom. The door to his room opened.

"You have a visitor," said the gruff male nurse from the doorway. House turned away when he saw Cuddy striding toward him, her expression not unlike that of a mother tending to her sick child. He'd never before felt a stranger combination of relief and dread, and it made his stomach churn and his muscles ache.

"I promised I'd visit," she said, kneeling next to him as the door to his room closed with a soft click. The rancid smell in the room apparently didn't faze her.

"And I don't look very sexy, do I?" he asked jokingly, though he grimaced as his stomach gave a lurch and he had to lean over the toilet bowl again.

"You look like crap," she said, smiling warmly. "But that just means you're getting better."

"You sure know how to motivate a person," he quipped.

"I try." He felt nausea rising again in the back of his throat, and he curled over the toilet bowl, vomiting for what felt like the millionth time that day. Cuddy rubbed his back soothingly as he heaved and coughed a few more times before slumping in exhaustion over the porcelain surface.

"You alright?" she asked. It was a knee-jerk reaction, a force of habit, but it was the wrong thing to say, and she realized it just a moment too late.

"_No,_ I'm not okay!" House snapped, glaring at her. "I'm in _pain._ And I don't need you sit there pitying me while I puke my guts out…" His voice cracked, his throat being so dry and raw from his being sick over and over again, and he sighed deeply. He rested his head on his forearm, not making eye contact with her. Still, her hand never left his shoulder. Regret mixed with nausea and agony and made his entire body ache even more.

After a moment, he started to speak again, softer this time: "I'm…"

"Shh," Cuddy interrupted, "Don't." She continued to rub his back as she spoke. "You're right. You're in pain. I know that. This can't be easy." She paused, her hand ceasing its soothing, to and fro motion across the span of his shoulders. "But you're sticking with it, and that's what matters."

The silence that followed was long, but not uncomfortable. He somehow knew that if he looked up at her, she would be smiling, but he didn't. He couldn't make himself do that quite yet.

Instead, he merely croaked, "Can you get me some water?"

"Sure," she said, and she stood. His back felt cold after her hand left it, the cotton of his sweat-soaked shirt sticking to his clammy skin. She took the plastic cup from its resting place on the sink and filled it, holding it out to him. He forced himself up off the lip of the toilet bowl to take it and swallow a tentative sip. His hands shook, but he held them as steady as he could as the cool water trickled down his throat, relieving the parched dryness that had been plaguing him. His stomach was less than happy about the intrusion, but it too relaxed after a few tense moments, accepting the liquid, albeit somewhat grudgingly.

"I can't stay too long," Cuddy said as she leaned on the lip of the sink. "I don't know how much time I have before they kick me out. But I did have a few things I wanted to talk to you about while I'm here. First of all, what should I tell your team?"

House scoffed. "You're asking me?"

"Respecting your privacy. I wasn't sure how much you wanted them to know. How much you were comfortable with them knowing."

"Tell them whatever you want," he said. "Tell them I'm in rehab or that I'm backpacking through the Amazon rainforest. Whatever you want. I don't care."

"Okay," she said with a good-natured roll of her eyes, giving him another gentle pat on the back. The sound of the door opening again drew the attention of them both. The nurse from before loomed in the doorway, apparently there to usher Cuddy out. "Looks like my time's up," Cuddy said. "I can come back when you're a little better if you want."

Finally, he turned and looked at her. He was pale and sweaty, deep shadows under his eyes from consistent lack of sleep. But his appearance didn't make her flinch in the slightest; she'd seen it all before. She'd seen him at his worst, at his absolute lowest points, and yet here she was, by his side despite all that. It was comforting.

He nodded almost imperceptibly. "That would be nice…" he said. She smiled and nodded back.

"Okay," she agreed, and her hand trailed along his shoulder as she stood up.

The nurse led her away, and as he watched the door close behind her, he took another sip of water. His throat burned, every muscle in his body hurt, and it felt as though someone was taking a sledgehammer to the inside of his skull, but at least his stomach seemed to have sorted itself out, if only just for now. Carefully, he hoisted himself up and made his way, one slow, shuffling step at a time, toward his bed. The sheets were still damp with sweat, but even the stiff mattress was a little more comfortable than the tile floor. His knees were certainly grateful for the relief.

Three down, he thought with a sigh, and just twenty-seven more to go.

He realized the date as he glanced over at the calendar on the wall. December 31, it read; nearly 2009. How painfully appropriate that he was doing this now, getting clean and ready for a fresh start at the beginning of a new year. He couldn't have timed it better if he'd tried.

Day Seven

"Happy New Year, everyone," said Emily, the chipper brunette sitting across from House in the circle. She smiled widely, brandishing her pen and clicking it several times against her clip board. "I know it was several days ago now, but the reason I say it again is because we're welcoming a new attendee to our group therapy sessions today. Everyone say hello to Greg." She gestured toward him and the twenty or so other people present awkwardly greeted him in turn.

"Greg, would you like to tell us how you're doing today?" asked Emily, smiling warmly.

"Well I haven't puked in a while, so that's a plus," he said. A few of his group-mates chuckled; others looked somewhat disgusted. Emily fell into the latter category.

"Detox is never easy," she said, regaining her cheerful demeanor. "I'm glad you were feeling well enough to join us today."

"Didn't have much of a choice, did I? Mandatory daily group meetings…It was on the syllabus and everything." He took a piece of crumpled paper out of his pocket and displayed it for her: his schedule for his stay at Running Stream. It included, as he'd said, daily group and individual therapy sessions, both mandatory, as well as activities such as craft sessions and movie nights (optional, but "strongly encouraged for facilitated healing"), meals and carefully observed appointments to get his medication.

"Greg, these meetings play an important role in recovery. If you don't want to go first today, why doesn't someone else share? How about you, Ruth?" A shy-looking redheaded woman sitting beside House looked up. She seemed to be around her mid-thirties and smiled before looking down at her lap and picking at her cuticles. "Go on," Emily prompted. "Introduce yourself."

"I'm Ruth," the shy woman said. "And I was addicted to-"

"Present tense, now, Ruth," Emily corrected. "Remember, the battle against addiction is ongoing. There's no such thing as an 'ex-addict.' Just a recovering addict."

"Right…I'm addicted to…Oxycontin."

"For how long?"

"Two years."

"And what made you decide to come here, Ruth?" Ruth continued to pick at her fingers, not making eye contact with anyone in the group for more than a few seconds each. She tried to speak, but her words seemed to get stuck in her throat, and she stopped. "It's okay, take your time. We're all friends here, Ruth. No judgments."

After some time of gathering her composure, Ruth continued. "My husband left me," she choked out. "He took our daughter with him. Said if I didn't get clean I would never be a fit mother…he was right…"

"You made the right decision," Emily said. "That's noble, coming here. You have something to fight for, and that just makes it more likely that you'll succeed. Let's thank Ruth for sharing." She clapped respectfully, the other members of the group following suit. Even House gave some half-hearted applause. Ruth dried her tears and managed small smile, mouthing a "Thank you" to the rest of the group.

"Who else would like to talk today? Dave, how about you?"

Day Twelve

House dialed the number on the public telephone in the hallway and waited. The phone rang once, twice, five times before he heard a click and a preemptive breath before his friend on the receiving end finally spoke.

"Doctor James Wilson, Princeton Plainsboro Oncology Department," he said officially, sounding distracted.

"Evening, buddy," House quipped. "How's life on the outside?"

"House?" Wilson asked in surprise.

"The one and only."

"Why are you calling? You're not planning a breakout are you?"

"You bet. Digging my way out with some spoons I snuck out of the cafeteria. Pick me up at the old bus station at midnight."

"House…"

"Relax, I'm staying put. Not like I'd be able to outrun security anyway." Wilson laughed a bit at that. "As for why I'm calling…do I really need a reason to want to chat with my best friend?"

"I'd consider that an excuse if I didn't know you as well as I do. You sound great by the way."

"Twelve days sober and counting," House said proudly. He paused for a moment or two. "How's Cuddy?"

"Why don't you call her yourself and find out?"

"Tried that. She didn't pick up." Wilson made a slight noise of surprise.

"She's probably busy. She does have a hospital to run you know. She visited you not too long ago, didn't she?"

"Back when I was still detoxing, yeah. But not since then. She's avoiding me."

"She's not avoiding you, House. Like I said, she's busy. She probably can't drive out there that often."

"So she hasn't come to you about anything that's bugging her?"

"What makes you think she would come to me? I'm not her therapist."

"You're e_veryone's_ therapist. It's practically your _raison d'être._"

"Well she hasn't said anything regardless," Wilson sighed. House wasn't buying it.

"You're lying."

"I'm not!"

"I can hear your nose growing from here."

"I-" He exhaled tiredly into the receiver, causing a rush of static on House's end. "Fine…she came to me a few days ago…said she'd…found a ring."

House blanched.

"House?" He didn't realize just how long he'd been silent until Wilson called his attention back to their conversation. "House…were you…going to propose to her?"

"Fuck…" House breathed. One of the nurses passing by gave him a disapproving glance, but he brushed it off. "How could she have found that?"

"So you really did have a ring? House, what-"

"I'm not planning on proposing any time soon, Wilson."

"Then why-"

"It was my mom's," he said irately. "She gave it to me over the holidays. I'm not planning on marrying Cuddy, at least not right this minute."

"Not right this minute?" Wilson asked. Leave it to him to pick up on such a thing. House rolled his eyes. "So…you've thought about it?"

"That's not important right now," he said.

"Not important? How is thinking about marriage not important?"

"It's not important _now._"

"Well maybe not, but it's going to be sometime. House, you've got to-"

"Alright, thanks for your input. I'll file it away for future reference."

"_House-_"

He hung up and rubbed his temples. How could she have found the ring? More importantly, what was he supposed to do now that she had? Did he bring it up to her directly? Did he wait for her to broach the subject? Maybe it would just blow over by itself, though that was somewhat unlikely and if left unchecked, this could easily turn into a major problem.

He looked at his watch; he had fifteen minutes before his next therapy session, not enough time to call Cuddy if he wanted to talk about anything of importance. Though he supposed he could leave a message, but what was he supposed to say? "Hi, Cuddy. Just wanted to let you know I have no plans to marry you, so you can forget about that ring you found." Ridiculous.

Day Sixteen

He skipped breakfast and slept in, and when there was a knock on his door around ten o'clock he thought he was going to get chewed out for forgoing the meal. But the word "visitor" was barked through the door, and he sat up and threw the covers off, moving to stand up when the door opened. There she was again, looking preoccupied almost to the point of being nervous, but smiling none the less.

"They tell me you have a therapy session in about twenty minutes," she said as she stepped inside and the door closed behind her. "I can never seem to pick a good time can I? Maybe I should start calling ahead." He said nothing; he merely shrugged. She stepped toward him, looking him up and down with a look of wonder in her eyes.

"You look amazing," she said, her smile widening, and she reached out and wrapped her free arm around him.

"Tends to happen when you're not constantly stoned," he said.

"I figured." As she pulled away from him and he got a good look at her face, her expression melted into one of anxiety rather than pride and relief. She bit her lip, and House suddenly knew exactly what was on her mind.

"You talk to Wilson lately?" he asked. And she sighed, though it seemed to be one of relief.

"Yes, actually. And he said you called him a few days ago."

"Figures…" he breathed. Though in truth, he wasn't angry. In fact, if Wilson had passed on the message that he'd given him when they'd spoken a few days prior, it could very well save House some of the unpleasantness of explaining things to Cuddy.

"It's fine, House," Cuddy said. "He told me what you told him, and I understand. In fact I'm kind of relieved…" She let out a breathy laugh as she spoke, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the velvet lined box. "I want you to know I'm keeping it safe for you for now. It's beautiful, you know…and I'll bet your mother would want it to stay in a safe place."

House eyed the box in her hand, pretending he hadn't heard the small note of disappointment he'd thought had been present in her voice, despite her reassuring words.

"Would that safe place be, by any chance, in your ample and frankly very visible cleavage?" he asked. She rolled her eyes with a smile.

"Now I know you're getting better."

"Oh, no amount of agony could stop me from appreciating such glorious craftsmanship," he quipped, still eying her breasts. She tucked the box back into her pocket, taking a step closer to him until their bodies were almost touching. His eyes darkened as he looked down at her.

"And you don't…want that…" He glanced down at her pocket where the ring box was safely nestled.

"We don't have to talk about that now, House," she said. "You concentrate on getting better, okay?" She tried to reach up to cup his face in her hand, but he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"I just don't want you to expect something that's only going to-"

"House," she interrupted. "Stop it. I told you, we don't have to talk about this now." He let go of her wrist and she stroked his cheek, her fingers soft against his stubble. "I know, House. I _know._ I'm not expecting anything like that. Okay?"

He nodded. "'Kay." She smiled, the hints of disappointment he'd picked up earlier now gone, and she leaned in to kiss him. It was slow and lingering, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. And it was only when she pulled away with a grimace that he realized he hadn't brushed his teeth in almost two days.

"Probably not the best kiss of your life," he said. She shook her head, still smiling.

"No…but you can pay me back later…when you get out of here." She let her fingers trail across his arm, smirking at him, her head tilted to one side. The door opened again, and she knew even without looking that the hefty male nurse who'd shown her in was waiting for her again.

"I should probably let you get back to therapy," she said. He nodded in agreement, and she left with one last smile.

So she understood. She wasn't expecting anything that he wasn't willing to give. And though that disappointment that he'd heard in her voice, despite the fact that he wished he could tell himself that he'd imagined it, caused him to feel uneasy, it was better than letting her go on thinking he wanted something like marriage. Anyway, she was right; it could wait, although he knew they would have to deal with it somewhere down the line.

Therapy was in ten minutes, and though he seemed to have gotten away with skipping breakfast, missing a therapy session would undoubtedly earn bad consequences. First thing was first, though; he had to brush his teeth.


	21. 30 Days part II

**I'm currently halfway catatonic after this week's episode, so forgive me if some of this chapter reflects that. Overall, it's a bit more on the uplifting side, though, so hopefully that will help cheer some people up. **

**I may need someone to hold me.**

******Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.******

* * *

><p><strong><strong><strong>30 Days (part II)<strong>****

Day Eighteen

"So...over halfway out of the dark. How are you feeling today, Greg?" House regarded the woman behind the desk with little more than boredom as he sank back into the plush armchair that seemed intent on swallowing him whole before this therapy session was out. He thumped his cane against the carpeted floor a few times before answering.

"A little better than yesterday," he said dryly. "Not as good as tomorrow. Isn't that how these things are supposed to work?" The woman smiled.

She was a large woman, this Marilyn Crubbard. Not overweight, but very tall and broad-shouldered; she was an imposing figure, and had a tendency to wear two-inch heels and padded suit jackets that made her look even more impressively proportioned. Still, her demeanor was almost constantly warm and welcoming, her eyes soft and sparkling behind the rounded glasses that sat on the bridge of her nose. She adjusted them carefully, pushing a strand of dark blonde hair from her angular face.

"That's what we like to see, but I'm not interested in hearing what you think I want you to say. I want you to be able to open up to me, Greg. To trust me." House shrugged.

"There's not much to open up about." She smiled knowingly.

"Now, I know that's not true. Addicts don't become addicts out of the blue. With very few exceptions, there's something lingering on the periphery of that addiction. I doubt the underlying cause of your drug abuse is anything as simple as a desire to eliminate pain."

"Maybe I'm just one of the exceptions, then," he said. Marilyn pursed her lips and removed her glasses, interweaving her fingers and leaning toward him, her chin resting on the back of her knuckles.

"Alright," she said. "We'll switch topics then. How is your leg feeling? Has the pain gotten any better since you've finished your detox?" House visibly rolled his eyes. "Problem?"

"I don't want to talk about my pain," he groaned.

"These therapy sessions are about you, Greg. They're for your own benefit. We need to talk about you and your healing process." She glanced at her watch. "We have about forty minutes left here. It's going to be an awfully long wait if we don't find something to talk about." She leaned back in her seat, her hands still clasped in front of her, and she waited patiently, watching him. He sighed.

"My leg's...better," he finally said, unconsciously rubbing his thigh. True, detox had brought with it agony that had been almost unbearable, but once that had passed, his leg seemed to have calmed. He was still in pain (he was _always_ in pain), but it was nothing he couldn't handle. At the very least it wasn't enough to drive him back to the Vicodin.

"That's good," Marilyn said with a smile. "It's what we hope for. Learning to deal with your pain in other ways will be a large part of your recovery process. What about your support system? You won't be here forever. Who do you have who you trust to help you through once you leave?"

"I have friends," he said. "Well...I don't have _friends._ I just have one. Though I'm not really sure how that happened." Marilyn chuckled.

"And your girlfriend?" she prompted. "I've heard you talk about her a few times before. You've mentioned she helped you make the decision to come here."

"She didn't help me make the decision," House corrected. "She was my reason for coming here in the first place." He paused, and Marilyn merely leaned closer, apparently interested.

"Go on," she prompted. House huffed and rubbed his temples.

"I overdosed over Christmas," he said. "She's the one who found me."

"Yes, you've mentioned the overdose. Often, that's what prompts addicts to get treatment. Hitting rock bottom in a way. How did you feel about that? About her being the one to find you?"

"I felt..." He wondered about that for a moment. How had he felt? He barely remembered most of it. The first thing that was clear in his memory was waking up in a hospital bed. There were a few scattered memories and images that were blurred in the back of his mind: Cuddy yelling at him, his mother panicking...They weren't pleasant, and he was halfway thankful that he didn't remember them more vividly.

"I felt...guilty...for putting her through that. Her and my mother. Scared..."

"Of what?"

"Of dying. Of her leaving me. Of coming here..."

"So you'd already decided to come here?"

"I don't know," he admitted. He felt he was talking to himself now, almost forgetting that the therapist was in the room. He supposed that was the aim to begin with anyway. "I guess I decided on it at some point, but I don't really remember it."

"The point is that you did. You made the right decision. The brave decision."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me."

"Tell me more about your girlfriend," Marilyn prompted. "You said you were scared she would leave you because of this. Why?"

"Because I thought she wouldn't want to deal with this anymore."

"But why would that be so horrible? For her to leave you? Obviously, all breakups are hard, but what would make this one so especially painful?"

House paused for a long time before answering: "Because I need her."

His response even surprised him. It seemed so obvious. He needed her. It was simple as that. It wasn't some new groundbreaking revelation, but the effect that merely saying it had on him was staggering. He felt that he needed to say something more, to follow it up somehow, but nothing else came to mind.

"You don't seem like the type of person to admit to needing people all that readily," Marilyn observed. She was certainly right on that account. She smiled warmly. "She seems very important to you. That's good. It's important for you to have a support system that you can lean on when you leave here. Thank you for sharing that with me, Greg."

House nodded. It was part of her _modus operandi_, thanking him when he shared something particularly deep or meaningful, rewarding him for opening up to her. At first it had annoyed him, but he found it oddly soothing now.

But despite that, as Marilyn continued to talk and ask him questions, and as he answered them somewhat mechanically, his mind wandered. He needed Cuddy, but what did that mean? It felt like dangerous territory, allowing himself to need another person this badly, because the last time he had, and every time before, it had always ended badly. He tried to picture what it would feel like to lose her, and he thought about the night of that car accident when her death had been a real possibility, and the pain that he found himself experiencing made him shiver.

"...I see you haven't been attending the optional programs with much consistency," Marilyn observed, catching House's attention again. "Crafts, music sessions, movie nights..."

"Thought that was the point of 'optional'," House said. "Means I don't have to go."

"No, you don't have to. There's no penalty for skipping them, but those programs are there to help patients recover. Besides, I would think it easy to get bored in a place like this." She looked around the room somewhat fondly before locking eyes with him again. He stared, looking disinterested.

"I wonder if you could do me a favor," Marilyn said. "I'd like you to go to one of these programs. You can choose whichever one you'd like. And next time we meet, tell me about it. Tell me about a movie you watched or a painting you did or a book you discussed. How does that sound?"

"Depends..." House said. "What do I get in return?" Marilyn's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline, arching over her glasses.

"This is therapy, Greg. It's not a game of give and take, at least not that way. What do you expect me to do for you?" House shrugged.

"Don't know. But like you said, there's nothing you can do to punish me for not going, so what reason do I have to do what you say?"

"How about the fact that I've been doing this job for a while, and I tend to have a pretty good idea of what helps most patients recover?" she offered. "Besides, how can you know that it won't help if you don't try it?"

"See, that might work on some of your patients, but I'm gonna need more of a reason than that." Marilyn studied him carefully before leaning back in her seat and clasping her hands in her lap, humming in thought.

"Alright," she said. "You go to one of these programs – and I mean really _go_; don't just ask what the movie was about or read the back cover of the book they discussed – and when you come back here, I'll let you ask the questions for a bit." It was House's turn to raise his eyebrows.

"Me ask the questions?"

"You seem like the type of man to like information, Greg. Do this for me and I'll let you interview me. Ask me whatever you like...within reason." She smirked a bit, and House couldn't help but do the same. "I'll even let you sit in the chair. What do you say?" She leaned over and extended a hand out to him. "Deal?"

He considered it. Maybe she wasn't the most enigmatic woman he'd ever met, but she had been right about one thing: he _was_ getting bored. And his boredom wasn't one that could be quelled by watching a movie or working with clay. He craved information, longed to figure someone out, and so far Marilyn was the only person who was not only presenting that opportunity, but was also someone that could be at least halfway interesting.

He took her hand and shook it.

"You got it," he said. She smiled.

"Excellent."

Maybe he only had less than two weeks left here, assuming everything went well, but he was starting to think that he'd be willing to make the drive to Running Stream a few times a week after he left to have his out-patient therapy sessions here. After all, if he was going to be obligated to talk to someone about his problems for three months, it might as well be someone he didn't find annoying, boring or condescending.

Marilyn Crubbard was none of these things, and he had to be honest, he rather liked her.

Day Twenty

"Pretty ironic showing _Labyrinth_ in a rehab center when that movie is basically one giant acid trip."

Marilyn raised an eyebrow at his comment as he spun slowly in her chair behind her desk. It was certainly different than what she was used to, being in the patient's chair instead of in her regular spot. Still, a promise was a promise.

"That's a good point," she said. "Was it nice, getting out of your room for something other than meals and therapy sessions? A little break from the monotony?" House shook his head in a non-committal fashion.

"Could have been worse. At least I got to listen to some of the magic of Bowie. You know, you remind me of the babe."

Marilyn crossed her arms, looking at her watch. "We have forty-five minutes. And to be honest I'd like to have a real session today, if only to keep up appearances. Let's say you get twenty minutes in the chair before we switch back to our usual setup. That sound fair?"

"Fine with me. Twenty minutes is plenty of time." He spun around to face her, leaning on his forearms on her desk. "So where were you born?"

"Boston," she said.

"Didn't live there long, though."

"How do you figure?"

"No Boston accent. Where did you grow up?"

"I'll save you some time. My family moved from Boston to New Jersey when I was three. I grew up not far from here, just outside of Princeton. Went to college in state, grad school in Chicago. Moved around a lot after that, lived in England for a while, too. Eventually found my way back here and I've been working for the Running Stream rehab center for almost ten years now."

"Interesting..."

"What part interests you?" she asked.

"Not one part. The whole thing. The fact that you gave me all that information in one go, to be specific. Makes me think you don't like answering questions. You're giving me all the information you feel comfortable with me having at once so I won't ask you something that bothers you."

Marilyn chuckled. "No, I don't particularly like answering questions. I don't think anyone in the field of psychology does. That's why we do what we do. We like asking questions, not answering them."

"So what were you trying to avoid me asking?"

"If I told you that, it would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"

"That's true...was it marriage? Did you have a husband?"

"No husband," she said.

"Wife?" House asked, arching his eyebrows. She smiled.

"No wife."

"So you never got married...why?" She shrugged.

"I guess I just never saw it as a good idea. When half of all marriages end in divorce, anyway...why go through that?" Even as she spoke, she smiled a bit, almost knowingly, it seemed.

"Are you sure you're just not afraid of commitment?" House said sarcastically. "You need to be more open with your emotions." Marilyn chuckled.

"Maybe...Then again, maybe I wasn't so cynical about the institution of marriage, really. Maybe that's just what I told myself...Maybe I was just avoiding it because I didn't want to believe that someone could truly love me unconditionally enough to want to be with me forever." House's expression slowly morphed into one more grim, more thoughtful. He suddenly realized that she wasn't talking about herself.

Oh, she was good.

"You're cheating."

"How am I cheating?" she laughed.

"I'm supposed to be psychoanalyzing you, not the other way around?" She arched her eyebrows.

"What made you think I was talking about you?" she asked with a smirk. House suddenly found himself without anything to say.

Oh, she was _very_ good.

"Maybe it's time we resumed our rightful roles," Marilyn suggested, standing up from the armchair. House nodded and gave her back her place behind the desk. It hadn't been twenty minutes yet. Not even close, but he couldn't really find the motivation to argue. To be honest, he had no more questions for her. At least, none that he wanted to hear her answer.

"How did you know?" he asked after a few moments of silence that passed when he sat back down.

"How did I know what?"

"About all that...about the marriage thing?"

"I was just answering your questions."

"Well for your information, you're wrong."

"Wrong?"

"I'm not afraid of marriage," he said. "I'm not scared of getting my heart broken or anything. There's just no point to it. If you're already in a committed relationship, why do you need some ceremony to make it official?"

"I never said you were afraid of anything. Like I said, I was just answering your question." He stared her down for several moments, and she smiled the whole time.

"You're very good," he said.

"I know."

Day Twenty-Nine

He supposed it was boredom that drew him to the evening crafts session the night before he left. It's not like he had much preparation to get done before the next morning; everything that needed to be packed (there wasn't much) had been put away and was waiting for him in suitcases by his bed. Just one more night in this place, and then he'd be going home. The thought brought with it trepidation as much as it brought relief. After all, out there, he was free from these whitewashed walls and the overbearing nurses, but he would also have to face everything that came with it.

He was trying not to concentrate on that now, though. Now, he was trying to concentrate on the dragon he was trying his best to craft from fuzzy pipe cleaners.

"Greg?"

He cursed as he stabbed his middle finger with the sharp metal end of the pipe cleaner, looking up to find the source of the voice that had called his name. It was one of the nurses (Taylor, to be exact – one of the few he actually liked, or, at least, who didn't annoy him all that much) standing in the doorway, gesturing for him to come over.

"You have a phone call," she explained. He sighed, standing up from the craft table and walking past the others, some of whom were staring unabashedly as he passed, others trying to be polite and looking out of the corner of their eyes. It was easy to get bored in places like this, and gossip was one form of entertainment that the nurses and therapists couldn't regulate.

Nurse Taylor led him to an office across the hallway and handed him the phone there before leaving. This was the nurse's station; he hadn't been in here more than a handful of times, and it was rare that any patient got to use the phone here. Usually, they used the public phone in the hallway, sans any kind of privacy, but here he was alone. The walls were the same hospital-issued off-white as the rest of the facility, they were lined with shelves filled with patient files, books and binders. House drummed his fingers against the wooden surface of the desk as he picked up the phone.

"How are you feeling?" She sounded tired and somewhat distracted; he could tell even from just that one innocent, almost obligatory question. Still, he found himself grinning ever so slightly at the sound of her voice.

"Bored out of my mind," he replied, and she let out a chuckle.

"That's okay," she said. They lapsed into silence. With every passing second, the feeling that Cuddy wanted to say something that she couldn't find the words or the courage to say grew.

"Anyway..." she said, "I just wanted to call and tell you that Wilson offered to come get you tomorrow. I hope that's alright..."

"Fine," he replied. Admittedly, he would have rather it be someone else; the last thing he needed was to be psychoanalyzed on the ride back home, as was almost inevitable if Wilson was to be the one picking him up. Still, just the fact that he could finally leave this place was enough to alleviate that slight anxiety.

"So...why else did you call?" The question caught her off-guard.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I know you way too well, Cuddy," he said with a slight smirk. "What else did you want to tell me?"

"I..." She paused. "Nothing."

Worry began to nag at him, no matter how hard he tried to fight against it.

"Cuddy-"

"Really, it's nothing," she said, with a bit more bite in her voice than she had meant to add. She sighed and softened her tone. "I'm just tired is all...long day and everything."

"Right..." he relented. Whatever it was – and he was sure it was something – she didn't seem to be jumping at the chance to share, and the last thing he wanted was to have a fight over the phone over something stupid the day before he was to be released. If he couldn't even wait until he was out of rehab to start screwing things up, where would he be then?

"House..." Her tone was soft, and he could tell she was smiling. He could picture that smile now, warm and genuine, despite her exhaustion. "I'm just gonna be glad to have you back."

"I'm sure," he teased. "No woman can resist this." He gestured to his own body as he spoke, despite the fact that she couldn't see him, and he heard her chuckle fondly.

"Although..." she said after a moment, "I have to say it's been nice to have some peace and quiet around the hospital. It's amazing how few lawsuits we get when you're not around. I'm starting to get bored myself."

"Don't worry, I'll be back wreaking havoc before you know it. Hopefully you can find something to do until then."

"I'll try." The door creaked open ever so slightly, and one of the nurses – a different one from the woman who'd led him here, one of those who he wasn't so fond of – peaked inside. He rolled his eyes.

"They're starting to get impatient on my end...won't be long before they kick me off, I think."

"I won't keep you," Cuddy said, and in her voice there was a mix of relief and disappointment. "I'll see you tomorrow evening."

"Can't wait," he said, a sultry edge to his tone. Cuddy let out one last breathy laugh before hanging up. He did the same, a smirk on his face as he left the office.

Day Thirty

"So you're leaving today."

"Yup."

"Do you feel ready?"

House scoffed. "No, I want to spend another thirty days making pipe cleaner birds and watching the same three movies over and over." Marilyn Crubbard smiled at him from across her desk.

"Well I could make that happen, you know. It's up to me to assess whether you're really ready to leave here or not." For just a moment, House's eyes widened, and she smirked, gathering her paper work and tucking it neatly into a manilla folder. "I won't, though. I agree with you, Greg. I think you're more than ready." With a flick of her wrist, she took out a navy blue fountain pen and eloquently signed the last of the necessary forms before adding them to his file and standing up. She stretched her hand out to his, and he stood and took it.

"Congratulations, Greg."

"Thanks," he said. She sat back down, prompting him to do the same as she intertwined her fingers and regarded him carefully.

"We still have some time," she said. "Is there anything else you want to talk about before you leave?" He shrugged.

"Are you going to keep me here regardless of what I say?"

"Yes."

"'Kay then...seen any good movies lately? I'll warn you now, though, unless it's about Labyrinth, Spirited Away or that crappy Doctor Who movie from the 90's, I might not have much to contribute to the conversation."

"How are you feeling?"

"A little let down, honestly. I mean Paul McGann was great, but the Doctor being half human? Please..."

"I mean about leaving here," she said with a slight smile. "About going back to the familiar. Sometimes it can be hard, seeing memorable places and people. It can...remind people of old habits."

"I know," he replied with a bit more edge to his voice than he'd been aiming for. He sighed. "It's fine...I already remember it. And believe me, I don't want to go back to that."

"Nobody wants to," Marilyn said. House remained silent, so she adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and straightened her papers. "Well, I'll expect you to keep me updated, Greg. Assuming you want to keep seeing me, that is. Should you choose to request a different therapist for your outpatient treatment, I promise not to take it _too_ personally."

"You really think I'd leave you?" he said pseudo-sweetly. "You're one of the few people here that doesn't either bore me to death or work my last nerve." She put a hand over her heart.

"I'm touched."

"Does that compliment get me out of the rest of this therapy session?" he asked.

"Alright, alright. But if anyone asks, you didn't hear it from me."

* * *

><p>He stepped out of the Running Stream rehab center feeling like a free man. Not just free from the rehab center, but free from the Vicodin that had so long chained him down in the deep pit of addiction. The air was cold and biting against his skin, but he didn't bother putting his coat on as he limped, cane in hand, across the parking lot to where he could see Wilson standing expectantly by his car.<p>

His friend's eyebrows shot up when he saw House coming toward him, and as House got to the car and put his suitcase in the back seat, Wilson crossed his arms and let out an impressed-sounding laugh.

"Wow..." he breathed. "House, you look...fantastic."

"So I've heard. You mind opening the door? I'm freezing."

"You could put on your coat, you know," Wilson pointed out even as he opened the car door and helped House get his things inside.

"I could. But that would require more effort on my part. I just spent the last thirty days in rehab. I've earned the right to be a little lazy, haven't I?"

"I don't think it would stop you even if you hadn't."

The two of them got into the car and Wilson pulled out of the parking lot. "Take me to Cuddy's place," House said. Wilson raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not your chauffeur, House. And why, anyway?"

"Why not?" he asked. "She's my girlfriend after all. Don't I have a right to see her after I've been incapacitated for the last month?"

"Alright, alright..." Wilson said, though he smiled a bit to himself.

"Stop by my place first, though." House said. "Something I have to get."

"Again, not your chauffeur," Wilson reiterated, but he made the appropriate turn none the less.

* * *

><p>He stepped into the foyer and there she was. Tired, yes (that was obvious from the shadows under her eyes), but smiling anyway. She wrapped her arms around him and then stepped back to look him over.<p>

"House, you look...incredible," she said. Her arms went limp at her sides. "Not that I'm complaining, but...why are you here? I thought you'd want to go home."

"I wanted to see you," he admitted. And truth be told, he didn't want to go back to his apartment just yet. There were too many memories there, hidden in the shadows. He ran his hand up her arm, enjoying the feel of her beneath his touch. Now they had time. Now there were no nurses waiting on the other side of the door to usher one of them out, no time limits on the amount of time they could spend together, nobody watching, nobody overseeing their actions. They were completely alone, he freer than he'd been in years and she smiling up at him through her own exhaustion.

He leaned in and kissed her, and as his lips moved against hers, she relaxed under his touch, cupping his face in her hand and running her fingers across his rough skin before pulling away.

"House..." she breathed, sounding disappointed, not in him, but in herself. "You know I want...but I...I'm just not feeling up to it..." She sighed. "Of all the times..."

"It's fine," he said, taking her somewhat by surprise. He reached into his bag and pulled out a DVD: V for Vendetta. "I got a movie." She stared at him for a moment before laughing.

"You got a movie..." she repeated, smiling more brightly than she had since he'd stepped through her door. For a moment he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

"What's the matter?" he asked, trying not to sound put out by the fact that she was tearing up. His first night out of rehab and he had to deal with tears? He should have seen it coming, but it didn't make him any more eager to do so.

"No, I just..." She brushed them away and took a deep breath. "That's just...perfect...come on."

They left his suitcase in the foyer for the moment and went to the living room, putting in the movie sitting together on the couch. "You smell like hospital," she said even as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"So do you," he countered.

"Okay...that's fair, I guess..." she relented.

About an hour passed, and the two of them watched the movie in silence, but House couldn't concentrate; something still bothered Cuddy, and it was starting to make his own nerves twitch with anxiety. In the end, it was she who spoke first, breaking the silence between them.

"You spend more time here than you do at your own apartment..." she mused.

"Problem?" he asked.

"No, it's just..." She shifted against him. "It's just that...I know you didn't just come here because you wanted to see me. You don't want to go back there, do you?"

"It's just an apartment," he said.

"Yes, but there are...memories attached to it. And not all good ones." He sighed, knowing that she was right and simultaneously loving and hating the fact that she could read him so clearly at times.

"Well I have to go back there at some point," he said.

"Yes, but you could always..."

"What?"

"I don't know...maybe..."

"I could what? Move in here?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"Oh...What?" Her gaze snapped around to meet his. "You...okay? Just like that?"

"It's like you said," he shrugged. "I practically live here anyway. And you offered, so...I'm assuming an open invitation."

"Well...yes. I mean, I guess, but...your apartment...don't you...I don't know...need your own space?"

"I don't have to get rid of it, really. I mean, I could always just move some stuff here...bring my toothbrush. That kind of thing."

"You already have a toothbrush here, you know," she said through pursed lips.

He smirked.

"Well that settles it then."


	22. Holding On and Letting Go

**Thanks for your patience, readers. I made it through finals in one piece and am now officially on summer vacation. :) **

**With just two episodes of the show we all know and love left, I just want to take a moment to say that, no matter what happens in the finale, this story will continue on to its completion, and that may take a while yet, since we've got a ways to go still. XD Anyway, I want to dedicate this chapters (as dark as it may be in some ways) to the show that captured our hearts, to the characters that inspired us, and to the people behind it who made it all possible. **

****Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White. This chapter deals with dark, potentially emotionally disturbing subject matter and should be treated with appropriate caution.****

* * *

><p><strong>Holding On and Letting Go<strong>

"Where're you goin'?" House mumbled through his pillow. Well, _her_ pillow, to be exact, she thought. She grinned.

"To the hospital," she said as she tried to put in her other earring with her one good hand. She was nearly ready to go while House was still half asleep in bed, her skewed sheets just barely covering his modesty. "Have an early appointment to get this damn thing off." She winced as she stabbed her ear on the third attempt to get the jewelry in.

"That's today?" House asked, sitting up in bed.

"Yup," she said. She hissed in pain again. Maybe it would be better to go without earrings today. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw House roll his eyes and get up, strolling naked across her bedroom and taking the earring from her. With a tenderness she wasn't used to seeing from him, he placed it in its rightful place, the ornamental gemstones dangling from her earlobe. She smiled at him.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he shrugged. "Though I'd prefer if you just took them off...came back to bed..."

"For the millionth time, I can't," she said, sounding as forceful as she could when she still had that smile on her face. "One of us has to get to work on time. If I let you become a bad influence on me, where will we be?"

"Having a lot more fun than you would have filing paperwork. I can guarantee you that." He smirked at her, and she wiped the smile from her own face to shoot him a halfhearted glare.

"I can't be late to my appointment," she said, brandishing her bandaged arm in front of him. "I can't wait to get this thing off." Her smirk was back as she lowered her voice and continued: "I thought you of all people would be excited for me to have the use of both my hands back." He considered this for a moment.

"Good point," he said.

"Thought you might think so." She leaned in and planted a quick kiss on his lips before pulling away and gathering the last of her things, making her way toward the door.

"Just in time for Valentine's Day, too," he reminded her. She smiled back at him wordlessly.

It struck her as she passed the calendar on the wall of her bedroom that he was right: it was February the fourteenth, Valentine's Day. Her earlier hopeful predictions had been spot-on.

* * *

><p>The sound of the saw was whiny and loud, grating on her ears as it cut through the plaster on her arm. She squinted her eyes and ignored it as best she could, focusing on what it meant rather than how it was doing nothing good for the headache that was brewing between her temples.<p>

Finally, there was a satisfying crack, and the material fell away from her arm, revealing her soft, pale skin. The scars there looked puckered and all too noticeable now against her sensitive flesh.

"They'll fade as you regain a little color," said the woman who was currently studying her freed arm after putting away the saw and removing her mask. "Flex your fingers for me?" Cuddy did so. Her muscles felt weak and stiff, but that was only to be expected.

"Good strength, nice healing," said the doctor as she palpated the bones and joints. Apparently, everything seemed to be satisfactory to her. She grabbed her pen and clip board and began writing.

"Congratulations, Dr. Cuddy," she said with a kind smile. "You're a free woman." Cuddy breahted a sigh of relief.

"I can't tell you how happy I am to know that," she said.

"I'm sure. Now I know you've heard it all before, but I do want to remind you of some home care precautions...No scrubbing or harsh soaps or lotions. And you'll want to soak that arm in warm water for about twenty minutes a couple of times a day for a week or so..."

She was right: Cuddy had heard it all before. In fact, she'd given the same speech a few times in her career. She couldn't be annoyed with her; after all, the woman was just doing her job, and she obviously wasn't going to skip over something so important when her boss was the patient, no matter how daft it might feel to relay such basic care instructions to another physician. Cuddy drifted in and out of the conversation for the most part, fighting back the growing pounding in her head.

"...Anyway, if you take good care of your skin, you seem to be on the road to a speedy recovery. If you're not having any difficulty or pain with movement, I don't think you'll need any additional support on that arm." She tested Cuddy's arm and her range of motion, which, though her muscles felt still and a little sore, went relatively smoothly, and soon enough the two women shook hands and Cuddy was able to walk out of the hospital room with both of her arms in working order.

* * *

><p>She fought off another bought of nausea as a knock on the door rang through her office, and she rubbed her temples, looking up from her desk. She barely had time to get out the word "Busy" before he stepped into her office, his hands behind his back and a grin on his face.<p>

"Too busy for little old me?" he asked, pretending to look hurt. "Guess I'll just go wish my other girlfriends a happy Valentine's Day while I wait for you to finish up then."

Her heart skipped, but she didn't let her inner emotions show on her face. Instead, she chuckled. "Since when do you do Valentine's Day?" He shrugged.

"Since the chances of me getting lucky are significantly higher if I go around the block and get you these." From behind his back he pulled a bouquet of flowers, bright and yellow, so unlike the cloudy gray weather outside. She smiled, genuinely this time, and she stood up behind her desk, approaching him and studying the golden petals.

"You...got me flowers..." she breathed, as though she couldn't quite believe it herself. "Who are you and what have you done with Greg House?"

"Is it really so hard to believe that I'm doing something nice for you?" he asked, mockingly furrowing his eyebrows as it he took offense at the very idea.

"Yes," she said with a smirk as she took the bouquet from him. "That you're doing this to get laid, though...that I can believe." She leaned a bit closer to him and added, "Though, to be honest, the flowers weren't really all that necessary..."

He smirked. "Can't have hurt, though."

"No, I guess not."

"So...maybe dinner tonight would be a bit of an overkill?" She arched her eyebrows in surprise as she placed the flowers on her desk.

"Dinner?" He clapped a hand theatrically over his mouth, his eyes widening as if he'd let some big secret slip.

"Oh I've said too much!" he exclaimed, barely hiding his grin. He let his hands fall back to his sides. "Well, if the cat's already out of the bag, so to speak, I might as well tell you that I may or may not have reservations for two at a little place called Elements."

"You made _dinner reservations?_" she asked with a quirked eyebrow and a crooked smile. "That's almost harder to believe than the flowers...House, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were going soft on me."

"Cuddy," he growled back, leaning in so close she could feel his breath on his lips, "When has that ever happened?" She smirked for just a moment at the double entendre before he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply, possessively, and she ran her fingers through his hair, relishing the feeling of being able to wrap _both_ arms around him. It had been something she'd missed for so long.

They broke the kiss, both smiling, and House drew back, looking ludicrously pleased with himself.

Then he saw the look on her face.

Her smile had faded, and she was beginning to go pale. The change in appearance was so sudden and so shocking that it made his pulse begin to race. She was starting to sweat, looking unsteady on her feet, and he reached out to her.

"Cuddy?" he called, his voice urgent, bordering on terrified. She didn't seem to hear him. Suddenly she crumpled, her face suddenly twisting into a mask of pain as she brought her hands to her abdomen and cried out.

When she collapsed, his reaction was immediate; he lunged forward, his cane clattering on the floor next to him as caught her and knelt, cradling her head in his arms. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes as she let out strangled sounds of agony, gritting her teeth.

"Need some help in here!" House called. He looked down and saw dark red blood running down her leg, dripping onto the carpet. "Somebody get in here _now!_"

She curled up against him, her tears flowing freely down her face, though her eyes were still shut tight from pain. He called her name softly, his heart pounding against his sternum. The flowers he'd brought her had tumbled from her desk, landing on the floor next to her, the petals scattering around her feet.

She finally reacted to him, and through her agonized whimpers she let out a single syllable: his name.

"I'm here," he reassured her, his voice so uncharacteristically split between tender and horrified that even he wasn't entirely sure that it was his own. She reached out and grasped the sleeve of his jacket, not saying anything more, just just searching for something to hold on to – a lifeline. "Cuddy, I'm right here."

She let out a choked, painful sob that forced its way out of her throat like a strangled prayer whispered around a noose. Her grip on him tightened, and though it terrified him, he was grateful for that; she wasn't fading. She was staying with him, staying aware, holding on.

* * *

><p>Wilson could tell something was very wrong the moment he saw House's face. Well, he'd known it wouldn't be good news, but he didn't realize just how bad it was before he saw his friend's expression as he sat outside Cuddy's hospital room.<p>

"What happened?" They were the first words out of his mouth when he approached. House didn't seem to have heard him; he merely continued to stare at the drawn curtains inside the glass walls. "House," Wilson called. He put his hands on his hips as he stood beside him, waiting for an answer. "You can't just text me to tell me Cuddy was taken to the ER and then not tell me why. What happened?"

"She miscarried."

Wilson stood in stunned silence.

"She...what?"

"I said she miscarried," House repeated.

"That's what I thought you said..." Wilson sat down slowly next to his friend, hunching over and clasping his hands in his lap. "I didn't...I didn't even know she was pregnant."

"That makes two of us."

"You didn't know? How far along was she?"

"About ten weeks, give or take," House replied. His face was still eerily emotionless. Wilson let out a heavy sigh.

"God...and _she_ didn't even know?"

"She knew." House's certainty as he spoke shocked Wilson, and the oncologist balked.

"She didn't tell you?"

"Something's been bothering her lately...She's been tired, nauseous, spacing out all the time...Like she had something to tell me, but just couldn't work out how to say it. I should've seen it. I should've-" Suddenly, House gritted his teeth and gave an angry cry, slamming his cane against the wall. The noise that the movement produced made Wilson jump and it echoed down the hall. House slouched over, resting his forehead against his knuckles and sighing in exhaustion.

The two men sat in silence for a while, and finally Wilson spoke: "You should go talk to her."

"I will," he said.

"Any idea when?"

"I _will_," House repeated.

"How long has it been?" Wilson hazarded after another moment's silence. House glanced at his watch.

"About an hour since they moved her in there from the ER," said House. Wilson scoffed in surprise.

"And you _just_ texted me?"

"Been a little absentminded. Perspective, Wilson."

"Right..." Wilson conceded. He wasn't exactly happy about it, but it didn't feel like a good time to argue about anything. "House, you need to go talk to her."

"I-"

"Don't just sit here and tell me that you'll get around to it eventually. She's been in there, alone, for an hour, probably waiting for you. You can't just sit out here and make her stew over this any longer than she has to."

"She kept this from me for two months. What's a few hours to her?"

Wilson stared at him, slack jawed.

"Are you even hearing yourself right now?" he asked. "Do you have any idea how much of an ass you're being?"

"You sound surprised. How long have you known me again?"

"House, I don't care how much of a bastard you are or how dusty and worn out you emotional coping skills have become over the years. I know you care about her. I know you love her, and you're acting like it's your job to dole out some sort of punishment for something that she had little to no control over!" Wilson stood when House looked away, standing in front of him and forcing him to listen.

"What would you have done if she had told you, hm?" Wilson continued. "You were in rehab for a month, trying to get clean. How were you supposed to have dealt with something like this then? She wasn't keeping it from you, House. She was thinking about your emotional well-being at the expense of her own."

"I've been out of rehab for two weeks-"

"But still recovering! Your medical license hasn't even been fully reinstated yet. House, if you were in her position, what would you have done?"

"Kind of hard to visualize, considering I don't have a uterus," House spat. "At least last time I checked." Wilson rolled his eyes.

"You know what I mean-"

"Doesn't matter."

"How could it possibly not matter?" Wilson practically roared. He huffed, fighting to keep his voice down when this man sitting in front of him was coming within inches of getting a face full of fist. "Your girlfriend," he continued, at a slightly more controlled volume this time, "is in there right now, scared and in pain. You of all people should empathize with that."

"Me of all people?" House asked darkly.

"Yes, you of all people. And if you have an ounce of decency in that skull of yours, if you care about her at all, you'll go in there and talk to her. _Now."_

Silently, House stood, the two men never breaking eye contact as he did.

"Fine," he said, his tone sizzling with acid. He began to move toward the door of the hospital room.

"House-"

"_What?" _

"Just wait a minute...calm down..."

"Talk about your mixed signals," House snarked, glaring. "First you tell me to go talk to her, now you're telling me not to. If you want me to listen to anything you say, try a little consistency every once in a while."

"I know, I know," Wilson admitted. "You should...go talk to her, but not while you're angry. That's the last thing you two need right now-"

"Oh, stop it," he growled. Wilson paused. "You think you know everything there is to know about us. Think you can solve all of our problems because you're the great three-times-divorced James Wilson, and that's what you do: you _fix people._ You latch onto them and suck them dry like a leech. Maybe I'm not the only addict here, Wilson." He was almost yelling by the time he finished, and Wilson was, all of a sudden, left speechless. He stood there, dumbfounded, as House turned from him and went into the hospital room, closing the door behind him.

The atmosphere changed dramatically as House entered the room and saw her. She was lying in the bed, silent and unmoving, curled up and facing away from him. Her eyes were open, but she said nothing; she didn't even seem to recognize his presence there. He took a few tentative steps forward.

"How are you feeling?" he asked awkwardly, tapping his cane on the floor as he waited for her response.

"Sore, emotionally conflicted and I just heard everything you said," she said in one breath, still not turning to face him. He set his jaw. What right did she have to be upset with him after everything that had happened? What had he done?

"Then I guess I won't have to repeat myself too much," he said, stepping forward. Now she turned toward him, letting out a humorless laugh of disbelief.

"You're really making this about you?" she asked. "After everything that's happened, you're really making it about you."

"Oh, sorry," he quipped. "Forgot I wasn't allowed to have an opinion."

"This isn't about having an opinion on anything, House! I just had a-" She stumbled over her words, choking on them, gagging on them like they tasted foul. She reduced them down to a near whisper: "...I just had a miscarriage, and you're-"

"Exactly!" House replied loudly. "I didn't even know you were pregnant! When were you planning on telling me, huh? Over dinner tonight?"

"When was I supposed to tell you? You were in rehab-"

"So you and Wilson keep reminding me. Thanks, I'd forgotten that. But what you both seem to keep forgetting is that I've been out of rehab for weeks, and you're acting like I'm still sick."

"You _are_ still sick! At the very least you're not all better. Did you think you'd be in and out in thirty days and automatically be fixed? It doesn't work like that, House. You're still recovering."

"You think I don't know that? You think that there's any part of me that could ever forget that?" They were both on the verge of shouting, and Cuddy made a point of bringing the volume of her voice down when she spoke again.

"I was trying to find a good time..."

"And when was that going to be, huh? Tonight? Tomorrow? Next week? Or were you just going to wait until you were in labor to clue me in?"

"No..."

"Then when?" he roared, and his voice echoed in the silence that followed, hanging in the air. "You're always telling me to open up, to be honest, to talk to you, but in the end you can't even take your own damn advice. In what screwed up part of your mind did you think it would be a good idea to keep the fact that you were pregnant with _my kid_ a secret from me?"

"I wasn't...keeping it a secret..." Cuddy said, her voice cracking. She could see it, the hurt in his eyes, the genuine turmoil that this had caused him.

"Oh, right," he scoffed. "You just thought it would be fun to see how long I wouldn't notice that you had a bastard bun in the oven-"

"How can you say that?" Cuddy snapped, sitting up and wincing when the sudden movement caused her abdomen to cramp and ache. Her eyes stung with the tears that gathered there and she let them roll down her cheeks without a care. "You come stomping in here all high and mighty like I've wronged you in some horrible way, and yes, maybe I made a mistake. But not once have you even asked - _genuinely asked -_ how I'm feeling!" She paused to take a ragged, shaking breath, keeping her eyes locked on House's face despite her blurred vision. "Did you even think about what I'm going through? This isn't the first time this has happened to me, House, and now the proof that I am and always will be unfit to be a mother is nothing but a stain on the rug in my office."

She choked, crumbled and sobbed, hiding her face in her hands as she cried in front of him, hating herself for it but at the same time not able to find the energy to give a damn that he saw.

She expected a snarky comeback, thought that he would certainly find some way to twist the conversation to paint him as the one who was suffering the most once again, but when she managed to look up at him once more, all she saw was an expression of shock and confusion. He glanced from her to the I.V. hooked up to her arm to the window to the door and back again, seeming unable to think of a single thing to say or do.

Her gaze hardened, then, and she dried her tears as she glared at him.

"I want you to go," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but full of venom. He looked genuinely surprised.

"You didn't...want me to stay with you or-"

"Stay with me?" she scoffed. "Why would I want you to stay with me? Why would_ you_ want to stay with me when you just want to do nothing but berate me for keeping this from you? When you don't even care-"

"I do care."

"Well you're doing a pretty messed up job of showing it."

They lapsed into silence again, and they stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. He felt he had more to say, like he wanted to make another point, try and convince her to let him stay with her. His eyes were full of emotion that had forced its way to the surface suddenly and with so much force that it surprised him, but he couldn't put them into words. And in some deep, aching part of his heart, he knew that she was right.

Suddenly it dawned on him in one cascading moment, what she was feeling. It pained him so much that he couldn't take it. Part of him wanted to run away, but part of him – a small, almost timid part of him – wanted to stay, to hold her hand, to be there for her.

But it was too late. That moment had passed. And now she was looking at him with a look in her eye so sour, so harsh, that he wondered if it was even possible that any sort of love for him could still survive there at all.

So instead of speaking, he shoved that tiny voice in the back of his mind down into the depths of his consciousness. He pursed his lips, turned, and, as his shoulders slumped and he tried to tune out the sounds of Cuddy holding back her own tears, he left the hospital room alone.


	23. My Legacy

**Well I thought I was going to be completely catatonic after the finale, but it seems to have only helped me in terms of writing progress. XD I know people have very widely differing opinions on the topic of the final episode, but I for one was very satisfied with the way it ended. I bawled like a baby, but by the end I was able to take a deep breath and say goodbye to the show that I have loved for so long. And I am, surprisingly enough, okay. **

**Whether you loved the finale or hated it, or maybe didn't even watch it, I think we can all agree that House gave us some great memories and some fantastic times, no matter whether you stopped watching in season three or stuck with it until the end. As I said, there's still a ways to go with this story, and even though the show is over, I will continue it until its rightful end.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White. **

* * *

><p><strong>My Legacy<strong>

"You know she's not here."

House rolled his eyes when Wilson approached him from behind. Even without turning around, he knew exactly what to expect: hands on hips, head cocked to one side, lips pursed in a way that seemed to say that he knew something was going on and he wasn't leaving until he found out what. Wilson would have made a very good mother, House mused to himself. If it weren't for the shadow of recent events hovering over both of them like an ominous storm cloud, he might have laughed at his own thoughts.

"Course I know that. You really think I'm going to pass up a chance to look through my boss's unattended office like this?"

"She's also your girlfriend."

"_And _she's my boss."

"What happened yesterday?"

"Spent a night in," he said with a shrug, stalking over to Cuddy's desk and rummaging through her papers there. "Ate Chinese food, watched Top Gear, lost some money on the stock market..."

"In your apartment?" Wilson asked with one eyebrow raised?

"I do live there."

"I thought you were living with Cuddy."

"Part-time," House said. "I have a toothbrush in her bathroom. Both literally and-"

"You barely even go to your apartment anymore, House," Wilson interrupted. "Whether it's official or not, you and Cuddy are about two steps away from paying the same mortgage. What happened-"

"She was _pregnant_," House suddenly snapped, his temper flaring. "That's what happened. She was pregnant and she didn't-"

"You're not really still going on about that, are you?" Wilson scoffed.

"So you're on her side?" House asked accusingly.

"I'm not on anyone's side! There shouldn't even _be_ sides, House! She's in pain, and instead of being there for her, you're thinking of yourself." House remained silent, so Wilson took the opportunity to step forward and continue making his point. "This is the point, House, where you have step back and make a decision. Either you let yourself be there for her when she needs you, or you realize that you're not capable of being who she needs you to be and you..." He sighed himself now. "...end it. Either way...you can't run away from this."

"You're right..." House finally conceded after a long pause. Wilson looked genuinely relieved.

"Am I?"

"Yeah," House said. "I have to end this." Wilson's eyebrows shot up, and as House tried to push past him and leave, he stopped him.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on a second!"

"What?" House snapped. "You're always giving me advice, now I'm finally taking it-"

"No, but you're missing the point, House! I don't want you to end things-"

"Oh, so it's about what you want?"

"No! No...I..." He placed his hands on House's shoulders, taking a breath to gather his thoughts. "You want my advice? Go to her. Talk to her." House tried to push past again, but Wilson held firm. "You're good for each other, House!" At that, House did stop.

"You should see you two together," Wilson continued, an emotional fondness growing in his eyes. "You drive her crazy, and when the two of you fight, I worry you'll tear the place down to the foundation, but...she's good for you. And you're good for her. You make each other _better_. Don't throw that away, House. Don't choose misery over her."

"The two choices aren't mutually exclusive," said House.

"Maybe not," Wilson admitted with a shrug. "But they are related."

House had nothing more to say to that. He averted his gaze from Wilson's, and for a moment, his line of sight fixed on a mark on the carpet, right by Cuddy's desk. It was almost entirely gone, the deep red replaced instead by only a slight discoloration, not easy to spot if one didn't already know where to look. But even so, the sight of it made House's blood run cold at the memories and thoughts that it brought up. He turned away, saying nothing more to Wilson as he shoved him aside and left.

He needed to think, but not about this. He needed to get his mind off of it. He needed a puzzle.

* * *

><p>"Fifty-one year old woman with chest pain, vomiting and dizziness. And before you ask, no, Cuddy is not working from home. Even she isn't that much of a control freak. I did this all by myself. Who's proud of me?" He looked around at his somewhat shocked team as he slapped the file down on the glass desk, looking crestfallen when nobody responded. "Nobody? My self esteem is crushed."<p>

"House, what are you doing?" Foreman asked. "You just got out of rehab a few weeks ago. Your medical license hasn't been fully re-instated yet. You can't run this case."

"I can't perform tests," he corrected. "And legally, I can't sign anything, but I know you can all forge my signatures just fine, so that's not a problem." He sat down and surveyed them. "Nothing wrong with giving a bit of friendly medical advice, is there? For example, you-" He pointed at Thirteen. "Should consider using different shampoo. Yours is drying out your scalp."

"Where did you even...get this case?" asked Taub as he took a look at the file. "Isn't Cuddy still-" He stopped suddenly, wincing in pain, and Thirteen shot him a warning glance. As Taub reached down to massage his shin that was throbbing from a solid strike from Thirteen's shoe, House raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Impressive...I knew had Thirteen had killer legs, but damn," he quipped. "Yes, Cuddy is currently indisposed after suffering a miscarriage. But I'm sure you're already aware of that. Old news. That's the problem with rumors. They travel so fast. I'm always behind."

"And are you..." Taub paused, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Okay?"

"I'm not the one who miscarried." Foreman stood, taking the file from Taub and standing before House with his arms crossed. "What's this? Mutiny?"

"You can't take this case. You shouldn't even be here. You're supposed to be doing your hours to get your medical license back. Until then, you're not in charge." House stood to his full height, looking Foreman square in the eye.

"I'm still your boss."

"Cuddy gave me the authority to oversee the team until you're fit to take over again. Once you get your license back, I'll bow to your authority. But for now, you don't have any."

"Most obvious cause would be a heart attack," Thirteen said. Both men turned to look at her. She shrugged. "No matter who's in charge, it doesn't change the fact that someone is sick. Maybe you two can stop squabbling long enough for us to actually do a differential so that I can feel like we're being productive and not just wasting time that we could be using to do something actually worthwhile." House looked from Thirteen to Foreman again.

"Dying chick has a point," he said. Foreman rolled his eyes, going back to his seat, but taking the file with him. "Guess it makes sense though. When you don't have much time left, it doesn't make sense to waste it." Thirteen barely flinched at the comment, instead taking the file from Foreman and looking it over.

"And heart attack would make sense, but if it was that simple, I wouldn't have brought it up. That's the first thing the ER checked for when they brought her in. No signs of blockage or bleeding."

"It could just be dehydration," Taub offered. "She's active. An electrolyte imbalance could look like a heart attack if it was severe enough."

"Except the symptoms didn't start during or after a workout," said House. "They started in the middle of her book club. Not a whole lot of sweating going on at those. Unless I've been going to the wrong book clubs."

Thirteen began to speak again: "Could it be lu-"

"If you say lupus," House said, taking the file from him, "I _will_ shove this file down your throat."

"Autoimmune might make sense, though," offered Taub. "We should test her just to be sure."

"If there's something going on in her chest or abdomen that we can see, it would be quicker to just look inside," said House. "Do an ultrasound when you take the blood. Maybe we can get more information that way." Foreman glared at him. "Oh, sorry. Would you do the honors?"

"Do it..." Foreman sighed. The four of them stood, and Foreman pointed at House. "You stay here."

As Thirteen and Taub left, Foreman stood in the doorway and confronted House, his arms crossed. House rolled his eyes. "What can I say?" House asked. "I'm a born leader."

"We both know why you're doing this," said Foreman. "You don't want to deal with your problems with Cuddy so you're trying to waste your time on a puzzle that's barely a puzzle."

"Didn't know you'd traded in your stethoscope for a clip board and become a relationship counselor."

"It doesn't take a genius to see that you're doing what you always do. You're running from your real problems and trying to avoid them instead of dealing with them." House looked over Foreman's shoulder, then studied him closely, grabbing the lapel of his lab coat and lifting it to look underneath.

"Are you hiding Wilson under there?" he asked. Foreman pushed him away. "Whoa! I could sue for sexual harassment, you know-"

"Stop this. I don't care what you do with your time. I don't care if you're having relationship problems, but stop trying to deflect when peoples' lives are on the line or you might get yourself arrested or somebody else killed!" Foreman turned leaving the office and House inside it. The wind howled outside, and he looked at his watch and sighed. He had an appointment to keep.

* * *

><p>It was raining as he sat down to talk to her that afternoon, a frigid storm that was just on the wrong side of freezing. Luckily enough for him, the weather had held out long enough for him to arrive before it really started pouring. He just hoped he would be fortunate enough for it to stop before he left. A drive home in the rain wasn't exactly what he needed to lift his spirits.<p>

The pause after he'd told Marilyn the story of what had happened since their last meeting was long and tense, and when she finally spoke, there was genuine concern for him evident in her voice.

"And you never knew?" she asked. "Not until it happened?"

"Nope." She sighed.

"Well...that is unfortunate." She leaned back in her chair behind her desk, taking off her glasses and silently polishing them. "How does it make you feel?"

"Oh, don't do that," House scoffed. "Don't do that whole therapist schtick..."

"I am a therapist, Greg," she reminded him with a half smirk. "And the reason we all ask that is because it's an important question. How are you feeling?" He paused, not entirely sure how to answer this question. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. "Take your time."

"Time doesn't make the difference. I don't know what I'm feeling..."

"You know what you're feeling, Greg. You just can't find the words to describe it. Have you ever heard of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis?"

"Linguistic relativity," House replied. "Learned about in my public speaking class my freshman year of college. But what does that even have to do with anything?"

"Then you know there are two different views on it," Marilyn continued, not answering his question. "The strong version, which claims that our language dictates what we can and can't think about-"

"And the weak version that says it just influences it," House finished. "But I'll ask again, what does that have to do with anything?" Marilyn smiled.

"I happen to hold to the second version, myself," she said. "Just because you don't know how to name something or how to describe it exactly the way you want to doesn't mean you can't convey to other people what you mean. It might take time, and it might not come out sounding just the way you want it to, but everything, I think, can be explained through words. Try, Greg. Try to tell me what you're feeling." House fought back a roll of his eyes, but he sighed and relaxed back into his chair, concentrating.

He thought back to that moment in her office when she'd collapsed in his arms, pale and bleeding. He'd been so terrified. It was as if all the medical knowledge had been wiped from his memory and he'd been left helpless and calling out for aid. The horrified look in her eyes, the tears that had slid down her pain-stricken face had reminded him of himself so much it had caused his own heart to ache, and he never wanted to see that pain in her eyes again.

"I was helpless," he said. "When she was lying there. I couldn't do anything but just...hold her." Marilyn nodded, but said nothing, letting him talk instead. "I thought I was going to lose her."

"You mentioned not long ago that you were scared she might end the relationship. How is this different?"

"What do you mean how is this different? I wasn't worrying about whether or not she was going to break up with me. I thought she might _die_."

"So you were worried for her life? For her well-being?"

"Of course I was. As surprising as it might sound, I actually do care about whether my girlfriend lives or dies."

"Go on," Marilyn prompted.

House thought back again, to the moment when he'd found out what had happened. He'd wanted to punch the doctor who'd told him square in the jaw, but he'd gone to the restroom and slammed his fist into one of the stalls instead. His hand still ached from the impact and the bruises on his knuckles were becoming colorful reminders of his anger.

"I'm angry."

"Because she lost the child or because she didn't tell you?"

"Both."

Marilyn paused. And so did House. The very thought had formed in his mind just moments before he'd blurted the word out.

"I know she didn't...mean to miscarry," he clarified. "She didn't do anything to bring it on. But maybe if she'd told me...maybe I could have done something..."

"What would you have done?"

"I don't know..."

"Well if you think you might have been able to prevent this, you must have some idea how-"

"I don't know!" he yelled. "I don't know and I never will because she didn't tell me. She hurt me...and I hurt her...It's what I do..."

"It's what humans do." He looked up when Marilyn said that, somewhat surprised by her choice of words. She was staring at him intently, waiting for him to make eye contact before she continued: "People lash out when they're hurt. They say things they don't mean. Things they regret. And then they think that people won't be able to forgive them for it, so they withdraw. But when you realize that it's the fatal flaw of all people, that everyone feels hurt or abandoned every once in a while and takes it out on the wrong person, then you can open yourself up to a real, meaningful relationship."

He stared at her across her desk.

"Do you love her?" she asked.

He found himself stammering: "Wha-"

"Do you love her?" she repeated.

His response was immediate and firm: "Yes."

"Then, Greg. I'm going to do something I try not to do. Usually I try to let my patients find their own path. I help them work through their problems so that they can see what needs to be done for themselves. But right now I'm going to go against my own way of doing things. I'm going to rebel, if you like. And I'm going to end this session early."

"Why?"

"Because there's somewhere else you need to be right now." She grinned at him, and he stood up from the armchair. It was pouring rain outside, but he didn't much care. "Now go," Marilyn said, ushering him toward the door. He grabbed his coat, starting to leave.

"Are you still charging me for the full session?" he asked as he was halfway out the door.

"A fortune, Greg," she said with a wide smile. "A fortune."

* * *

><p>He knocked on her door and waited.<p>

For a few moments, he thought she wouldn't open it. He thought she would look out, see it was him, and either demand he leave or simply refuse to answer at all. He wondered if maybe it would be better to just go and save himself some time, but then she finally opened the door.

She looked tired, which was not surprising. There were heavy dark bags under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept at all since the previous day, which was well within the realm of possibility. She had on no makeup and was wearing a loosely fitting gray sweater and some jeans. It reminded him of the night he'd come to console her after she'd lost Joy, and of the night he'd driven her home after Charlotte's suicide.

She looked defeated.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Are you going to let me?" Instead of answering him with words, she stepped aside and let him enter. He took off his jacket and tucked it under his arm as the cold from outside receded, replaced by the warmth of Cuddy's home. She stood there with her arms crossed, staring at him, waiting for him to speak.

"I need to talk to you," he said awkwardly.

"I'm assuming that's why you're here, yeah," she said.

"About...yesterday..."

"Again, I'm assuming." He took a deep breath, listening to the pause.

"I'm..." The word caught in his throat. Why was it so hard to mutter a simple apology? It was just one easy word. Why couldn't be force it out? Perhaps it was because it wasn't simple. This wasn't just a matter of one of them being right and the other wrong. Both of them had been hurt.

He began again: "I-"

"I'm sorry." He furrowed his eyebrows in surprise when he heard the words fall from her own lips. She was avoiding his gaze, her eyes misting up as she spoke. "I should've...told you...I should've..." She let out a choked sob, one hand traveling meekly to her abdomen, and suddenly House couldn't stand to hear her say it. He reached for her, grabbing her wrist and stopping her from going any further.

"Don't," he pleaded.

"What?" she questioned.

"Just...don't..." She glared at him.

"What, so I'm here trying to apologize, and you won't even try to-"

"No, no it's not..." He sighed, covering her hands with his and waiting for her to look up at him until he continued: "You shouldn't have to apologize. I shouldn't have..." He trailed off. Cuddy pulled her hands from his grasp and instead put her hand on his shoulder.

"Come sit down," she commanded softly. He hesitated. "Come sit down," she repeated, "and talk to me." Her gaze was so piercing and so intense that he couldn't help but follow her, coming over to the sofa in the living room and sitting next to her.

They sat in silence.

"I should have told you," she said again.

"Cuddy-"

"No, I mean it. I thought I was protecting you, but...you were right. I would have had to tell you sooner or later and waiting as long as I did only made it worse. I'm sorry." He wanted to argue, but he decided it would just be easier to purse his lips and accept her apology. Things would go more smoothly if he did.

"I shouldn't have..." he began. But he found he didn't know quite where to start. "What I said to you...I shouldn't have..." They were so easy, those two little words: "I'm sorry," but he still couldn't seem to force them out. And they seemed meaningless anyway. They were too simple for this. Too easy.

"No, you shouldn't have," she finally said. "You hurt me, House. I hurt you, and you hurt me. We both made mistakes..." Somewhat tentatively, she put her hand on his knee. "I'm angry. I'm angry at you for saying those things...or at least I was...now I'm just angry at myself...at my body for constantly reminding me that I'm just not fit to have a child..." She stumbled on her words and choked back a sob, tears forcing their way out of her eyes and dripping into her lap as she hunched over.

"Hey, stop it," House demanded, putting an arm around her. "You're not...unfit to be anything. You're just the victim of a cruel twist of biology. We all are, in the end." She leaned against him, shamelessly crying against his shoulder and he stroked her arm soothingly.

"I know it was an accident...all in all, it's probably for the best," she said after a few minutes of silent crying. "But I can't...I can't stop wondering...a kid...our kid...what would it have been like?"

"Probably would have come out with a five o'clock shadow and a bad attitude, for a start," he said. She laughed – genuinely laughed – and scooted even closer to him.

"Would it...really have been so bad?" Her question made House feel like someone had filled his stomach with ice water. "I'm not saying...I'm not saying we should have kids, but I-"

"Maybe it wouldn't," he found himself saying, surprising even himself. He didn't realize he'd said it out loud until Cuddy shifted against him, looking up at him inquisitively.

"It...wouldn't?" she asked.

"I...there was a time...when I thought...maybe...I would have kids one day...I thought maybe I could get the chance to prove that I could do what my father couldn't...But it didn't take long to realize how badly he'd screwed me up, and...I guess I just always assumed it would be easier to let the House legacy die with me."

"You're not your father, House," Cuddy insisted. "You two weren't even related-"

"But he raised me," said House. "He did a shitty job of it, but he did." She leaned forward and grasped his hand now, making sure he looked her in the eye as she spoke:

"But you' re not him," she said. "If he's the only thing that's stopping you, don't let him." He took a moment, silently reflecting, staring at the mantelpiece as Cuddy snuggled up against him once more, getting comfortable as she fit her body to his, her small frame pressing up against his bulky, muscular body. He felt...warm. Peaceful. He put an arm around her shoulders and held her close.

He was thinking about it. He was picturing it. And now, in this different light, what had always seemed so out of reach and downright reckless seemed instead like something to strive for. He couldn't honestly say right at this moment that he wanted kids. No, he wasn't quite ready to say something like that. But the thought no longer filled him with terror. Anxiety, yes, but also...hope. Hope that maybe misery didn't have to be the only hand life had dealt to him.

"Close your eyes," Cuddy said softly. "Just...picture it for a minute..." He did so, shutting his eyes lightly and letting the sound of her voice guide his thoughts. She continued somewhat tentatively: "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Boy," he said immediately. Didn't even have to think about that.

"Okay..." she said with a warm chuckle. "What does he look like?" He thought for a moment, his mind wandering to another time and place, to an alternate existence, it seemed, where he was standing in a hospital room, holding a tiny bundle in his arms, looking down at it.

"He's tiny..." he said, sounding almost mystified. "All scrunched up and stubborn-looking."

"I wonder where he got that from," Cuddy said fondly. House opened his eyes and cocked an eyebrow at her. "Close them! Keep going."

"Okay, okay..." Again, he shut his eyes and continued to build the mental picture. "He's got my ears." Cuddy laughed.

"Alright, what else?"

"Lots of hair. Dark. Hopefully he'll keep that for the rest of his life." She smiled and toyed with his thinning hair. Unbeknownst to most, it was one of his greatest superficial insecurities, barring his scarred leg. "Your nose..." he continued.

"Of course he'd inherit that family jewel..." Cuddy sighed. He smirked, peeking at her with one eye and kissing the tip of her nose. "Closed!" she commanded. He obeyed. After a pause, she said, "Your eyes..."

"They're closed."

"No, I meant he's got your eyes."

"No. Yours." He opened his eyes for a final time, and she didn't bother to tell him differently. She looked at him curiously. Then, in almost a whisper: "He would have your eyes."

"Really?" she asked. He nodded, and he leaned in to kiss her softly, warmly. Her arms came up and wrapped around his neck.

As House pulled away, and as they looked at each other, he suddenly felt...sad. Sad that Cuddy hadn't been able to carry to term. It took him by surprise, and he didn't voice his emotions. When had he become so...paternal? It was like some inner drive within him, something long dormant (he'd assumed dead or even nonexistent) had awoken, some deep desire to pass on his legacy to someone other than a co-worker or a friend. Someone of his own flesh and blood.

They stared, wordlessly, remaining silent for a long time even as they broke their eye contact and just sat there together, retreating into their own thoughts. But even in the silence, even without saying a single syllable more on the matter that night, House couldn't rid himself of the creeping feeling that they had – though he couldn't quite make out exactly what it was – decided on something.


	24. Namaste

**Speedier update than usual. Hopefully this chapter didn't turn out too sickly sweet. Either way, I'm seriously excited for the chapter after this one, which is already about halfway written as it is, so the next update should be really quick too. :)**

****Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.****

* * *

><p><strong>Namaste<strong>

It was worse than it had been in a long time.

He sat up in bed, gritting his teeth and stifling the sounds of extreme discomfort that were forcing their way up his throat as he clutched his leg beneath the covers. He glanced over at Cuddy, asleep beside him, and debated for a moment whether or not to wake her before deciding that it would do nothing to help the situation.

And it wasn't much of a situation, really, he told himself. It was just his leg acting up. Perhaps it was the worst bought of cramping he'd had since detoxing, and perhaps the longing for narcotics had never been stronger since he'd left Running Stream, but it was just a passing bought of muscle pain. It would pass, he thought over and over again, hoping that the words would have some effect on his aching thigh. The mantra did little to relieve his suffering. If anything, it just got worse over the course of the ten or so minutes that he sat there next to Cuddy's sleeping form, and finally, he could take no more of lying there; he had to get up and move.

He let out a pained grunt as he hauled himself up from the bed, and once he was finally standing, he couldn't bear to put weight on his bad appendage. But he made himself lean on it, if only very slightly, hoping that stretching the muscle a bit would be beneficial. The tight cramping in his thigh remained, though, as he limped to the bathroom.

It was slow going, and when he got there he didn't bother turning on the lights. He sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and massaged his leg. Maybe a soak in some hot water would help? But the running tap would certainly wake Cuddy, and the last thing he needed was her worrying over him and trying – like Wilson – to analyze his pain into something more meaningful in his psyche.

So he sat. And he waited.

How long it was later, he didn't know – it felt like an hour or more to his clouded mind, but it could have easily been as little as ten minutes – he forced himself up, turned on the lights and opened the medicine cabinet, searching until he found the Ibuprofen. He swallowed two pills and then one more for luck as he sat back down on the toilet.

"Hope that's Advil."

He looked up at the sound of her voice, placing the pill bottle on the side of sink with a heavy sigh. She said nothing more, merely leaning against the door frame, watching him. There was a knowing smile on her face, but her eyes were sad, worried for him. That look just made his thigh muscles tighten up even more.

"Actually it's Viagra," he quipped. "Was kinda hoping I might get a little something-something-"

"House."

He fell silent and she padded over to him, kneeling next to him on the cold tile floor. She put a hand gently on his thigh and he flinched, so she moved her light grasp to his arm.

"Number?" she asked.

"No," he pleaded, "Don't...don't do that..."

"Give me a number," she commanded again. Her grip was soft, but firm on his arm, and she kept her gaze focused on him even when he averted his eyes.

"It's just..." He winced as another wave of pain shot like electricity through his leg. Then he said through gritted teeth: "Just a bad cramp..."

Breathe, he told himself. Breathe in, breathe out.

"How bad?" she asked.

"Ah...ah, eight...eight and a half maybe."

"God, are you sure?"

"It's fine...it's getting better-" He bit back a groan as his muscle seized up.

"House, there's a big difference between a regular eight and _your_ eight."

He said nothing. His nostrils flared in annoyance and anger – not toward Cuddy, but toward himself and toward his own body for putting him through this agony.

"What happened?" Cuddy asked.

"Nothing, I just-"

"House, I don't care if you want to argue it or not, but that leg is your conscience. Are you sure nothing happened to-" She paused, sudden realization washing over her like a flash flood. Her shoulders slumped. "Is this...is this about...what we talked about earlier? About..." She trailed off, her hand wandering to her abdomen.

"No..." said House. He closed his eyes and bit his lip. Through his pain, he took her hand. "It's not...it's just..._Ah..._" The pain was so bad that it radiated from his thigh, up through his abdomen, down through his leg. Cuddy stood up in alarm.

"House, if it's really this bad...we should take you to the hospital-"

"_No._" He stared up at her, eyes swimming with emotion and pain. That he wished so badly he could hide from her. He took his hand from her grasp and dug his fingers into his own leg, trying in vain to ease the pain that was pulsing through his veins. She knelt again.

"This much pain could mean any number of things." She hesitated for a moment, dropping her voice down low as if someone might hear them, despite the fact that they were alone. "It could even be another clot-"

"This isn't the same pain I had with the infarction," House said, and that was true. As bad as it was, it wasn't even close to the agony he had experienced back then. Still, despite that, it was not easy to endure; the Ibuprofen wasn't even taking the edge off, not that he had expected it to anyway.

"Still, maybe we should-"

"I'm _not_ going to the damn hospital!" The silence that followed his outburst was tense, and it only added to his discomfort. He shifted uneasily.

"Okay," Cuddy resigned. "Okay..."

"I didn't-"

"It's alright," she assured him. "It's..." She let out a breath. "No hospital...not now."

"Promise you won't."

"No."

That took him by surprise.

"No?"

"I don't care how stubborn you are, House. I don't care how proud you are or how goddamn scared you might be-"

"I'm not scared."

"...Whatever is going on in that head of yours," she interrupted. "I trust you when it comes to judging your pain. I can't know what you're feeling any better than you can. But House, if something happens, I'm sure as hell not going to put your pride above your health or your life. I'm a doctor, House." Surprisingly, she smiled. "You might argue that, but I did swear an oath."

She straightened up, grasping his arm with both hands. "Can you stand?" He nodded, and with some effort and a grunt of pain, he stood up, leaning against Cuddy and holding on to her as she led him back to the bedroom, helping him sit down.

"I'm guessing those pills didn't do much..." she said as she sat next to him. He shook his head, chuckling bitterly.

"Not really," he said. They sat in silence for what seemed like a good long time, and slowly – agonizingly slowly – the pain in House's leg began to subside. Not entirely – it was never entirely gone, of course – but eventually he found that it was tolerable. He lay back on the bed, Cuddy remaining at his side still, her body soothingly warm beside his.

"It is because of what happened...isn't it?" she asked. "About what we talked about..."

"About the kid?" House offered, sensing her tentativeness.

"Yeah."

"It's not like I'm over here having a panic attack, Cuddy."

"I know...I know you're not, but...still, it was a big conversation..."

"We didn't sit down and decide to have kids right then and there, Cuddy."

"No, but I can still understand how something like that could mess with you. Hell, it messed with me. No, it wasn't a...a _decision,_ but even so..."

"I told you I wasn't entirely against the notion of having kids," House said. "Doesn't mean I need to make any major life changes now." He put his hand on his damaged leg again. "Had enough of that for awhile, actually."

Cuddy leaned back against her pillow, regarding him curiously in the low light.

"Alright," she said. Her hand joined his on his thigh. "Feeling better?" Wordlessly, he nodded. "Think you can sleep?" Again, he nodded his head. She let out a soft hum of confirmation and got under the covers. Slowly, he joined her.

They shared a few minutes of silence, but somehow House knew she would speak again. He could sense it in the way she lay there, pretending not to be staring at him when he could tell she just couldn't stop.

"House..."

There it was.

"I know you...you stopped physical therapy early on. But it might-"

"You're really bringing this up now?"

"It might really do you some good." She put a hand on his arm, staring up at him, trying to show him how sincere she was. "I know you don't think it's worth it, but maybe-"

"PT won't do anything for me."

"You don't know that."

"I do." He turned to face her now, brow furrowed in annoyance. "I don't want to cause myself any more pain when it won't benefit me. My leg's just too far gone. I thought I was the only one who needed to accept that."

"Even though it's been a while, it could still-"

"_No,_ alright?" She pursed her lips, falling silent. He rested his head back on the pillow again with a heavy sigh.

Of course she had to speak again: "You know...if you don't want to try PT, there are always other things you could do..." He turned to her, raising one eyebrow.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Cuddy?"

"Not talking about that," she said with a grin. "If that could regrow muscle, your leg would be healed by now." Despite the dull throbbing in his leg, he smirked. "I'm talking about...oh, you're going to laugh...Just hear me out, okay?"

"Cuddy..." he said dubiously. "What are you talking about?"

"Yoga." He did laugh at that. She couldn't be serious. "I mean it!"

"You want me to do yoga?" he scoffed. "This might surprise you, but I don't think I'd be able to pull off those tight yoga pants as well as you can."

"I'll take that compliment. But I'm serious, House. It's good for you. Even you should know that. It could help you manage muscle pain and stress...We could do it here. Just you and me. In private."

"You know I like the sound of that," he growled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, his hand wandering over her shoulder and...lower.

"Give it a try," she offered, grabbing his hand and stopping its progress, albeit somewhat reluctantly. "What do you think?" He rolled his eyes.

"Fine." She smiled.

"Really?" she asked hopefully.

"Sure," he agreed. "But I'm not putting on any yoga pants. I'll leave those for you."

"I can deal with that." He smiled, as did she, and he leaned in to kiss her.

"You know..." he said against her lips, "My leg is feeling better...and since we're both up-"

"I have to get up in the morning. And you need your rest. Go to sleep."

"You're going back tomorrow?" he asked, worry sparking ever so slightly in his eyes. "So soon?"

"To be honest, the sooner I get back to the everyday ordinary, the better," she said. He nodded wordlessly, understanding. "Now...go to sleep, House." He let out a breath against her shoulder, her hair tickling his forehead as she traced her fingers over his arm.

"Fine..." he sighed, and he rested his head on the pillow, closing his eyes. Despite the pain, sleep came quickly.

* * *

><p>House leaned back in his chair, studying the book in his hands through his reading glasses. He didn't look up when the door opened, but he knew who it was already without doing so. He couldn't tell if that fact was meant to reassure him or worry him. In the end he ended up feeling a bit of both.<p>

"Shouldn't you be doing your hours?" Wilson asked. "You know you can't get your license reinstated until you do them."

"Did them for the day," House said. "Besides, I'm not too worried about getting my license back...I am dating the Dean of Medicine, you know."

"And you and Cuddy...you're...okay?" House cocked an eyebrow at him. "I mean..."

"We're fine," House said curtly, removing his glasses and placing them and the book on the desk. "In fact, we have a date tonight."

"Really?"

"You don't need to sound so surprised," House scoffed.

"No, I'm not! It's just...That's good. It's good."

"You're turning into our own personal cheerleader, aren't you?" House joked. The door swung open again, and both men looked up this time. Speak of the devil, it was Cuddy. She paused, seeming surprised by Wilson's presence, but then smiled at them both and approached House's desk with an envelope in her hand.

"You should be doing your hours," she said. Wilson turned and gave House an all too familiar look, which House shrugged off.

"You gonna discipline me?" he teased.

"Only if you make me," she replied.

Wilson cleared his throat. Cuddy reddened very slightly and handed the envelope to House.

"What's this?"

"Meant to give it to you yesterday, but I...well I forgot." He took the envelope from her. "There's a diagnostics benefit next week." He rolled his eyes theatrically. "Don't give me that. As the head of diagnostics, you have to be there."

"Oh relax, I'll go," House sighed. "But you owe me." Now it was her turn to roll her eyes as she turned from him.

"No I don't," she called over her shoulder. With a smirk, she added: "And don't forget your yoga pants tonight!"

House looked down at his desk as Cuddy left, making out Wilson's entertained smile out of the corner of his eye.

"Yoga pants?" Wilson asked.

"It's supposed to help with muscle pain and stress...and chakras and whatever the hell else...it's a thing, okay?"

"You're doing yoga?"

"Forget about it."

"_Yoga_, though?"

"I said _forget_ about it." Wilson put up his hands and stood up.

"Alright, alright," he conceded. "If it makes any difference, I'll be going to that benefit too...At the very least you'll have someone to help you cheat at poker." As he went to the door, he turned back to House, put his hands together in a prayerful gesture and bowed. "Namaste, House."

The last thing Wilson saw before he left House's office was a long middle finger pointed in his direction.

* * *

><p>"Forget your yoga pants?" Cuddy quipped as House came into the living room, instead wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt.<p>

"Sorry, maybe next time," he said. "If there is a next time anyway, which I doubt."

"We'll see. It might not be as bad as you think."

"Maybe. Doubt it. Although..." He limped around her to examine her rear end with an appreciative glint in his eye. "I can't say this isn't a nice view, though." She turned to face him with a grin, unrolling a mat on the floor and another next to it.

"Sit down," she said. "Legs crossed." He did, and she did the same beside him. "We'll start with some breathing exercises, then move on to some easy leg stretching."

"Sounds like the perfect evening to me," he quipped.

"House," she said, good-naturedly, though there was an annoyed edge to her voice. "For this to work, you need to relax. To clear your head." She brought her hands to her chest, palms pressed together, and closed her eyes. "It's all about peace of mind."

He rolled his eyes, but copied her, closing his eyes and breathing in time with Cuddy's soothing words: "In...and out...in...and out..." Soon he felt himself relaxing, drifting off into a state of calm that he hadn't expected to find. Sure, he felt stupid sitting here on the floor like this, but his mind was oddly...peaceful.

Soon he felt a hand on his thigh, and he opened his eyes to see Cuddy shifting, leading him to copy her actions. She stretched her left leg out to the side, reaching out to touch her toes. He tried to do the same, but felt a twinge in his muscle that kept him from reaching all the way.

"Don't worry if you can't reach. Just stretch as far as you can. And remember to breathe."

"Oh yeah, I forget to do that sometimes," he said. She shot him a look that clearly said "be quiet and stretch," so he complied. He brought his mind back to his breath and stretched. His good leg yielded over the seconds, relaxing, but his bad limb still protested, despite being in the easier stretch position at the time.

Cuddy moved again, changing legs, but House hesitated. "Just breathe," she reassured him.

"I'm stretching, Cuddy, not in labor."

"Still, breath is important. Just..." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Breathe." She breathed in deep, and he slowly shifted as well, switching legs, stretching his injured limb out the way the other one had been before. It was not a change that was well liked by his tight muscle, and another twinge shot through him and made him wince. He took Cuddy's advice, though, breathing slowly, deliberately. With each breath he leaned deeper into the stretch, and though the pain did not stop, his leg did begin to relax and yield, if only slightly.

"Good..." Cuddy crooned. "Keep your breath steady..."

The next half hour or so went by more quickly than House would have expected, and by the end, though he had thought his leg would be even worse off than it had been before, he felt relaxed, calm and in less pain than he'd been in for a good long time. He felt Cuddy take him by his shoulders after they'd been through a number of different stretches and poses, guiding him down so he was lying on his back on the floor. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Cuddy...never knew yoga had happy endings."

"You could call it that, in a way," she said. "I call it shavasana. Keep your eyes closed." He did, but he felt her get up, moving around him and kneeling down again by his head. She lifted his head and rested it in her lap. "Keep your mind on your breathing...forget everything else. Forget the pain. Forget the stress. Let everything go. Just...relax." As she spoke, she gently massaged his temples, feeling him become more and more calm in her arms.

He felt like he was floating, like he was leaving his pain behind, aware only of his own breathing and over Cuddy's soft hands on his temples. He thought he might fall asleep, but after what felt like not nearly enough time had passed in this sweet embrace, she spoke again:

"Namaste," she said.

He opened her eyes, and he got a full view of her face, smiling down at him, warm and loving, her hands still gently cupping his head. Her eyes were full of so much kindness and sweet concern for him, but no trace of the pity that he saw on so many other peoples' faces when they looked at him. Simply genuine care and love.

More than he deserved.

In that moment, she looked more beautiful than ever, and he couldn't stand to lose that. Not now, not ever, because he knew more than anyone that he would sure as hell never find it again.

"Namaste."


	25. Sweet Insanity

_**This author's note is important. **_

**First of all, FF has been rampantly deleting stories with mature explicit content lately. Since I don't want to take any chances with this story at all, I went back and edited some previous chapters with more mature content and basically cut out the explicit parts. I didn't want to have to do it, but the last thing I want is for this story to be deleted from the site. That said, if the worst case scenario does happen (and I hope to every deity in existence that it does not) this story is updated and available on my LiveJournal account (under the same name with all original chapter content intact) and I'm hoping to get an account on AO3 (ArchiveOfOurOwn) soon too. So that does it for the important housekeeping news. Thanks for being understanding about all this. **

**NOW, onto this chapter. I'm super excited about it, and the last couple of scenes have been sitting on my computer since this story was just a few chapters in, just waiting to be used. I hope you are all happy with it. It was, at one point, going to be the ending of this story, but there's still plenty more to go yet. XD**

******Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.******

* * *

><p><strong>Sweet Insanity<strong>

"You owe me for this."

"I don't owe you anything. I told you already, it's a diagnostics benefit. And you happen to be head of the department."

"So you keep telling me," House said. He took a sip from the glass of champagne in his hand.

"And go easy on the champagne, will you? The last thing I want is for you to get drunk and start harassing donors."

"Don't have to be drunk to do that."

"House..."

"Relax...I'll behave. But like I said, you owe me."

"You'll behave or you'll be locked up in the clinic until the _next _benefit." She reached over and took the glass from his hands, placing it on the table. "The address is in an hour. I want you present and sober to speak."

"I still don't understand why you're making me say anything to these guys."

"Because you're the _head of diagnostics._ And you might be an ass, but you're one of the most renowned doctors in the country."

"So you need me to help convince these rich well-to-dos to buy the hospital a shiny new MRI machine."

"That's the plan," Cuddy said with a smirk.

"You manipulative bitch." She nudged him playfully, hiding her smile. She was feeling oddly giddy; maybe she should lay off the champagne as well, she thought. She put her own glass down.

"You can hide out in your office for all I care until then, but just be here for the address. _On time._ You got it?" As she spoke, House stood and grabbed his cane.

"Message received loud and clear," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me..." Cuddy grabbed his sleeve.

"House. Nine o'clock. Here. Sober. Alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, alright." He pulled his sleeve from her and turned, starting to leave, but then turning at the last moment and planting a kiss on her cheek before he left. He looked around at some of the men who were standing nearby, eying Cuddy, clearly looking to get their chance to hit on her. "She's spoken for," he said to them. They turned from him somewhat uncomfortably.

"Thanks," Cuddy mouthed. House winked, turned from her and leaving the soft, lilting music and clinking of champagne glasses behind him.

* * *

><p>House's office was dark. No light was visible besides the pale glow of the moon shining through the windows when Wilson walked in. He immediately saw House sitting there at his desk, staring at the wall, tossing something from one hand to the other.<p>

"You texted me," said Wilson expectantly, coming inside and letting the door close behind him. House glanced over at him, caught the small object in his hand and opened it up. The tiny treasure inside glinted in the moonlight.

"I thought it was time we took our relationship to the next level," he said. Wilson balked for a moment, but then recovered and pulled up the ottoman, sitting across from House.

"I don't know if I'm ready for that kind of commitment." A pause. "House...are you...is that..."

"An engagement ring? Sure seems like it."

"Why do you have that?" House shrugged.

"Don't really know..."

"Are you planning on...proposing? Tonight?"

"Maybe." Wilson scoffed. House shot him a sidelong inquiring glance.

"Maybe? House, why did you bring it here if you weren't-"

"Had it in my pocket for about a week now. Don't even know why I started carrying it around in the first place."

"I would assume it was because you were thinking you wanted to ask Cuddy to marry you. Or at least I'm assuming it's Cuddy." House chuckled, closing the box again and thoughtfully tossing it from one hand to the other. Wilson reached out, and House handed it to him.

Wilson opened the box and studied the ring inside. It was beautiful, and he let out a breathy laugh – one that sounded somewhat surprised, like he just couldn't believe what he was looking at – before handing it back to House.

"Wow..." he breathed. "Are you going to ask her tonight?"

"Maybe," House repeated.

"Well clearly part of you wants to. I mean, you must have picked up that thing for a reason instead of just letting it collect dust on a shelf. So _do_ you want to marry her?"

House rolled his eyes.

"I told you I've been thinking about it. Don't know anything for sure yet."

"I thought you always saw marriage as a stupid institution."

"It's not the institution that's stupid. It's the people. The people who get married after a month because they both wrote Frisbee golf and dogs on the interests lists on their online dating profiles and think they're meant for each other." He tossed the ring box up in the air and caught it. "There's no such thing as 'the one,' and most of the time the people who believe they're destined to be together forever are the ones who file for divorce within the year."

Wilson cocked an eyebrow at him.

"No offense," House added.

"None taken," replied Wilson. He paused. "You should do it."

House looked up in surprise.

"No lecture? No advice about how to make it work? I mean, I know you're the expert on proposing to women, but you also happen to be an expert on divorcing them. Those two skill sets don't exactly go hand in hand. Or maybe they do, but most people would prefer them not to."

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again, House. You two are good for each other. You are."

"You're starting to sound like a broken record, Wilson."

"I know...Hey." House looked up. "You know she'll say yes."

House wanted to come up with a smart comeback. He tried. He really did. But all he could manage to do was open the box again and look down at the ring.

Would she? Would she really?

"How could she not?" House finally said, closing the box and putting it back into his pocket. "I'm a catch." The two men sat in silence for a good long time, but it was a comfortable one. Finally, Wilson stood. "Where are you going?"

"The main address is in ten minutes. You should get going too. You're speaking, aren't you?"

"Yeah...be down in a minute."

"House..." Wilson said dubiously. "You are going to show up, aren't you?"

"Sure I will."

"You know, if you're planning to pop the question to Cuddy tonight, it probably wouldn't be wise to start things off by making her mad." House waved him off.

"Relax. I said I'll be down in a minute. Quit your worrying." Wilson rolled his eyes and turned, heading for the door. He looked back at his unlikely friend.

"House...if you do choose to do this...good lu-"

"Don't need it," House interrupted, leaning back in his chair and swiveling so his back was to him. Wilson smiled.

"Fine. I'll see you downstairs."

* * *

><p>"Where is he?"<p>

"Is he still not here?" Wilson asked, seeing that Cuddy was distraught. She crossed her arms and sighed deeply.

"No. I'm supposed to get up there and introduce him in-" She glanced at the clock. "_-two minutes._ And he's still not here."

"I just saw him," said Wilson.

"When? Where?"

"Up in his office about five minutes ago. He was...well...we were just talking."

"Well he better get his ass down her or-" She was cut off by the abrupt silence of the orchestra as they finished their song and went quiet. A soft buzz of feedback filled the air as the microphone was switched on, waiting for her in front of all those eyes. The end of the benefit was fast approaching, and she had to get up and do her bit now if everything was going to move along on schedule. And House was still nowhere to be seen.

She silently cursed to herself, put on her most amiable professional guise and walked up to the microphone.

* * *

><p>Cuddy was clearly not at all happy, from what he could tell. He wasn't exactly surprised. After all, he knew she had been expecting him to get up there and deliver some speech about how the diagnostics department saved lives and was unlike anything else in the country, about how they were changing the world one patient at a time. He knew that he'd told her he would, and he couldn't help but feel the slightest pang of guilt for having gone back on his word. But really, could she honestly expect him to get up there and parade around like a marionette to bring in the donations? Manipulating peoples' good will to bring in the funds was her job; it was not his.<p>

It ought to have been enough of a surprise that he'd showed up at this thing at all.

In truth, he hadn't sat in that chair in his office the whole time. He hadn't even willingly chosen to miss the address. True, he hadn't exactly been looking forward to it, and he supposed that his skipping it altogether was a perfectly likely scenario right from the start; perhaps it was even the most likely to happen overall. But the real reason he was just now re-joining the throngs of champagne-sipping well-dressed party goers, several minutes after the address had been completed, was because he had been simply too absentminded to come down earlier. He'd spent a good twenty minutes after Wilson had left roaming the empty halls, holding the box in his hands or feeling it through the fabric of his pockets, wondering just how things might go if he actually went through with it. By the time he'd glanced at the clock again, it had already been too late, and it had taken mere moments to accept that and rationalize it.

But now as he saw Cuddy stalking toward him, eyes ablaze, he felt the tiniest bit of regret.

"You _ass_," she hissed, keeping her voice low despite her clear fury, not wanting to make a scene when there were still potential donors milling about. "Where were you?"

"Bathroom," he said. "Sorry. Champagne didn't really sit well with me." She grabbed him by the sleeve.

"I asked you to be here. I counted on you, and I had to do everything myself to cover your ass."

"And I'm sure you did a great job of it too."

"I wasn't supposed to need to!" A few heads turned in their direction, and Cuddy controlled the volume of her voice, bringing it down again through a clearly gargantuan feat of self control. "You were supposed to be here and you couldn't even be bothered to give a two-minute speech for the hospital's sake-"

"What did you expect me to do?" House countered, now feeling anger bubbling up inside him. "Why would you ever think I would agree to dance for these idiots?"

"I never asked you to dance. I just asked you to be there for me-"

"Oh, so suddenly it's really not about the hospital, is it?"

"Yes it is! Don't you get it? I run this hospital. This place is my responsibility-"

"Then it's all the more appropriate that you gave the address and not me." Cuddy groaned in exasperation. People were beginning to murmur around them.

"Let's just go. Let's talk somewhere else."

"We can talk right here," House said. "You're making a big thing out of nothing. What, are you just looking for an excuse to get angry at me?"

"It's not nothing, House. I need to know I can count on you-"

"I've been trying to show you that! I've been trying to be there for you when you needed me. Can't you see that? Or maybe you didn't care about those other times because they didn't have anything to do with your precious hospital."

"I don't want to hope that you'll be there for me some of the time. I want to know that you'll be there for me all the time."

"Well I can't." She fell silent, staring up at him in disbelief, looking hurt. "I can't be there for you one hundred percent of the time. It's just not how I'm wired. You want to make me into some kind of accountable, professional, clean-cut doctor. Someone I'm not. If you're gonna fire me over this, fine. But don't try and make the fact that I missed a speech into some big revelation about the state of our relationship."

She took a step away.

"What if it is?"

"What are you talking about? Of course it isn't."

"Well sure, you can hold me while I cry and you can make dinner reservations, but when it comes to something like this...something that I really needed your help with...You can't even be bothered."

Another step back.

"Cuddy-"

"And it's not just this," she continued, beginning to tear up. "Those hours you had to fill to get your license reinstated...were you even planning on doing them? No...You were just going to have me sign a form and say that you did. You were going to have me put my own career in danger because you can't even be bothered to put in the effort."

She turned from him, but he reached out and caught her arm.

"Let go."

He didn't. Slowly, she relented and looked him in the eye again. House held her gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said, just realizing the implications of what she was saying. "I'm sorry I missed it." She sighed. "Cuddy, you can't expect me to change...You can't expect me to be perfect. But you can't say I'm not trying."

"House, let go of me."

"I can be there for you. I can. I promise."

"Don't promise that, House-"

"But I can. Look at me." Reluctantly, she did. "I can." He took her other wrist when she tried to turn away again, his grip almost painful. She winced.

"House, you're hurting me."

He had to show her. He had to prove to her that he was worth it. He had to prove that he could be there for her, that he was willing to do whatever it took to keep her. He couldn't let this fall apart over something so trivial.

"_Cuddy-"_

His hands were getting close to the point of bruising her wrists and people were beginning to stare. Cuddy fought to pull away, but he held firm, his eyes blazing into hers. They were drawing attention; everyone was looking at them. Cuddy's head was spinning. The music came to a painfully abrupt halt, and the banquet hall went silent with an eerie lingering buzz.

And that was when he looked her dead in the eye, the earth seeming to come to a screeching standstill on its axis when he said, with no hesitation or uncertainty, "Marry me."

Not a question, not a request, but a statement, a demand. No "Please," no "Do-me-the-honor," no heartfelt confession of love and devotion. Just plain and simple, like it was the most obvious choice in the world, her _only _choice: "Marry me."

"What?" she asked. People were whispering; she could feel all their eyes on her, disbelieving, waiting to see what she'd do. House paused, but only for a moment before sinking to one knee, and Cuddy felt she might faint right then.

"Marry me," he repeated, letting his rough grip on her wrist go and be replaced by a light clasping of her left hand in his.

"House…" she breathed, looking anxiously around the room. "People are staring…"

"Yeah, that tends to happen when you make a scene," he countered.

"You're the one down on one knee, House, not me," she was quick to point out, her voice wavering. Her legs felt unsteady. House reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a box, and she turned away, breathing a panicked "Oh God…" into the air. Still, he didn't open it yet; his hand was still occupied holding hers, as if he was sure that if he let go she would bolt. She wondered if that was really so far from the truth…

"Cuddy…" he prompted, his voice only then beginning to betray some anxiety. "I need an answer."

"I can't give you one," she told him. God, everyone was _looking at her_. "You're insane…" she finally sighed.

"Cuddy-" She pulled her hand from his, giving him one last look.

"You're insane," she repeated, and, willing her legs not to give out from under her, she dashed out of the banquet hall, feeling a million eyes following her as she did.

House cursed silently and pocketed the box again, scoping the room, feeling everyone's stares. He pushed himself up, taking his cane in hand again, and waved at the band. "Carry on," he said stiffly, ignoring their stares and following the path that Cuddy had taken seconds before.

* * *

><p>He found her not far from there, sitting hunched over on a bench in the hallway. He worried for one fleeting moment that she would run again when she looked up and saw him approaching, but he realized how silly that idea sounded when she merely sighed and wiped her eyes. She was crying. Oh, fantastic.<p>

"I never should have made you come to this stupid thing…" she said, sounding angry, but more with herself than with him. House paused, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to think of something to say. At the moment, only one thing came to his frazzled mind:

"Are you okay?" Cuddy let out a bitter laugh.

"No, I'm not okay," she huffed. "You just humiliated me in front of who knows how many people, most of them people I can't avoid…" He sat down next to her, resting his cane against the wall beside them and handing her a handkerchief. After a moment's deliberation and another heavy sigh, she took it and dabbed her eyes. Her makeup was starting to run.

"Well that wasn't exactly pleasant for me either…" he said, and he immediately realized that it was the wrong thing to say. Cuddy glared.

"It really is all about you, isn't it?" she asked him bitterly.

"I just proposed to you, and you stormed out of the room-"

"Exactly! You just _proposed_. Out of nowhere! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was _thinking_ that I want to marry you, obviously. I kind of assumed that the feeling would be mutual."

"Were you planning this?" she asked. "The whole night, were you planning on springing this on me?"

"No."

"Then why the hell did you do it?"

"I don't know!" A long silence followed as both of them breathed and tried to collect their thoughts and emotions. Cuddy rubbed her temples.

"I thought you were against marriage…" she said after a moment. "Think it's stupid…"

"It's gained a _reputation _for being stupid because people rush into it without really knowing the person they're getting hitched to. Then one day, one of them does something idiotic and the whole thing falls apart." He clasped his hands in his lap and nudged her. "I probably know you better than you do." Cuddy didn't want to smile. She really didn't. But she couldn't help it. She hid it quickly, not wanting to give House the idea that this really was a smart move.

Because it wasn't.

It couldn't be.

"What makes you think we can…do something like this?" she asked softly after a long pause.

"Are you going to break up with me?"

"No," she replied, with more deliberation than she'd meant to add. After what had just happened, it came as a relief.

"Well I'm not going to break up with you either. Face it, Cuddy. You're stuck with me. Why not make it official?"

"But we can't…I mean, we _can't_."

"Why not?"

"_Because_."

"That's not an answer." She sighed loudly and slouched, staring at the opposite wall. House reached into his coat pocket. "Will you at least look at it?"

"What?" He held the small box out to her, prompting her to take it, and she shifted uncomfortably, debating whether or not to take it from his hands.

"My mom did trust me with it...If you're going to shoot me down can you at least look at it so I won't feel like it was for nothing?" She took a deep breath and finally took the box from him, holding it in her hands but not opening it.

"So you really _were_ planning this…" she mused, but her tone was not accusatory. House shook his head.

"I knew I wanted it. But I didn't know how or when…"

"How long have you been carrying it with you?" she asked.

"Not long…I was just trying to…" Now it was his turn to take a steadying breath, mumbling his words. "…build up the courage." Cuddy pursed her lips, looked from the ring box to him and back again, and when he nodded her on, she finally opened it. She gasped and felt hot tears spill down her cheeks anew.

The ring was a dazzling silver color, spotless and smooth. The diamond in the center gleamed in the hall light, flanked by two sapphires bluer than the bluest oceans she'd ever seen. Cuddy had the urge to touch it to make sure what she was seeing was real and not some shimmering mirage, but it was as though the slightest touch would corrupt its beauty or make it shatter right there under her fingertips.

"It's beautiful," she tried to choke out, but all that escaped her throat was a strangled sob.

"Cuddy…" House breathed, and she suddenly realized that he'd leaned in close to her, his arm around her shoulders, his lips almost brushing against her ear as he spoke. "This decision is a completely selfish one. _I _don't want to be alone_. I _don't want to be miserable." She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling as though the emotion raging through her right then could rip her apart. "Ever since that accident…after everything that's happened...I kept thinking about what would happen if I…" He took a breath. "…lost you. I don't want to keep thinking like that."

"But I also want to prove you wrong," he continued. Cuddy looked at him inquiringly. "I want you to know that I can be there for you when you need me. Maybe not in situations that involve public speaking, but...in every other way that counts." He waited, anticipating her reaction, and she could have sworn he was holding his breath, watching her contemplate her next move.

Slowly, she handed the ring back to him, and she saw his face fall.

"Ask me again," she said through her tears. He arched his brow.

"Will you-"

"_Properly_," she commanded, and when he looked at her quizzically, she gestured down. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, nodded in understanding and sank to one knee, holding the ring up to her in the iconic gesture that he'd always seen on greeting cards and in movies. It was so nauseatingly cliché, he thought, but as Cuddy choked back a sob of elation at the sight of him kneeling before her as he was, he thought to himself that it might just be worth it this one time. He waited, watching her, awaiting her response and hoping that he'd be able to get up soon because his knee was starting to hurt on the hard tile, and finally she nodded. It was tentative at first, but then she burst into a wide grin and laughed and held out her hand to him. He couldn't help but smile himself as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

Both of them stood, and she threw her arms around him excitedly. She kissed him with wild jubilee and when she pulled away, she let out an exuberant laugh, her anger and frustration from such a short time ago forgotten in the moment.

"You're insane," she breathed.

Oh, he knew it. Insane? Yes. Scared? Without a doubt.

But god, was he ever happy.


	26. Good Tidings

**My AO3 account is officially up and running in case anyone else is on the site and want to find me. :) **

**Maybe I had a little bought of writers' block with this chapter, but I got it done more quickly than I thought I would. I had fun writing Arlene and Blythe, as always. XD Arlene is always entertaining to work with.**

********Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.********

* * *

><p><strong>Good Tidings<strong>

Life felt oddly calm as the two of them sat on her couch later that evening, Cuddy's head resting gently on his lap as she toyed with the ring on her hand. His fingers carded softly through her hair, without a conscious thought from him as he flipped through the channels on the TV with the sound muted. She didn't know what she had expected; was the world supposed to cease turning or the universe supposed to implode because of what had happened? She wasn't sure, but she did know this just felt too...ordinary. Maybe it just hadn't hit her yet.

It was late, and both of them knew they should go to bed, but they couldn't bring themselves to feel tired.

"House," Cuddy said softly, almost in a whisper. He looked down at her with a soft hum of acknowledgement. "What I said before...about you not being there for me...I didn't...I was angry, I didn't-"

Where this apology was coming from, she didn't know.

"It's fine."

"No it's not." She sat up, looking straight at him, fingers intertwining in her lap. "I shouldn't have said that. I was wrong." She softly rested her forehead on his shoulder, guilt finally beginning to set in for real as she spoke. "You've been there for me more than I ever could have imagined. When I was dealing with Mendel, after that car accident, even when my mother showed up...I couldn't have ever asked for more, House. You've been amazing and I'm sorry I couldn't see that."

"Cuddy, I told you, it's fine-"

"Please just accept the apology," she interrupted, almost sounding like she was begging him. She didn't want to sound like that, but she needed to hear it from him none the less. He regarded her silently for a few moments, finally reaching for the remote and turning off the TV. There was nothing worth watching on anyway.

"Fine," he said. "Apology accepted. " She smiled.

"Thank you." They slipped into silence again, and Cuddy once more rested her head in his lap, feeling his hand come down to cover her shoulder, his thumb stroking her skin through the material of her T-shirt. Again, she played with the ring on her finger, experimenting with the way it reflected light until she could make it shimmer in the glow from the lamp by the couch.

"Your mom's going to be over the moon when you tell her," she said off-handedly, finding herself with a smile on her face.

"She'll just be happy that ring's not collecting dust on some shelf," he replied.

"Well I know I am." He chuckled a bit; Cuddy felt his body quiver beneath her with the sound. "I still can't believe you asked me this...I still think I'm going to wake up and it's all going to be a dream or something." He looked down at her, then, and she up at him. He reached down an pinched her on the arm. "_Ow!_"

"Not dreaming," he said with a shrug. She hit him on the chest. "You know, speaking of parents, you're going to have to tell your mom at some point too." There was apprehension in his own voice as he spoke, and Cuddy felt it seep into the pit of her stomach.

"I know..." she said.

"How much do you wanna bet she's going to insist on coming back here as soon as she hears?"

"I don't care if she does," Cuddy said, turning so that she was on her back and looking up at House. "I don't care how much she might complain about it. She's not the one getting married, and she's not getting a say in the matter."

"Well that's good, because if it were up to your mom, we'd probably have better luck eloping. I didn't exactly ask for permission."

"I didn't expect you to." She ran her hand along the length of his arm, up and down. "You might be surprised though...knowing my mother, she'll probably just be happy there's a ring on my finger. Though...I doubt she'll be able to resist saying 'I told you so'." He glanced down at her and quirked an eyebrow.

"Well you did make quite the point out of saying you'd never marry me," she said.

"What, I'm not allowed to change my mind?" he asked.

"Of course you are. And believe me, I couldn't be happier that you did. But it's just...you seemed pretty adamant about all this before..."

"Exactly. _Before._" He emphasized the word. "Things change."

"But people don't," Cuddy countered. "Not really." She sat up again. House missed the weight and warmth of her head on his legs immediately, but he didn't let it show. "I know you were telling the truth, House. I know you meant it when you told my mom you didn't want to marry me." She paused, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. Absentmindedly, she looked down at her ring again.

"I just...I want to make sure you really do want this...I don't want you to rush into it if you're...scared, or-" He moved swiftly, taking her wrists in his hands and holding her fast. The gemstones on her engagement ring glinted in the light.

"I never said I didn't _want_ it," he said. "I said we didn't _need_ it. We don't need some superficial ceremony or a piece of paper to prove that our relationship means something. But I don't exactly have any plans to leave you, and..." He sighed. "Like I said, it's a completely selfish decision."

"So you're going to make it as hard for me to leave you as possible?" Cuddy asked with the slightest hint of a smirk.

"And I get bragging rights," he added. She quirked an eyebrow.

"Bragging rights to what?" House scoffed.

"Bragging rights to you. What man wouldn't love the chance to tell people he's married to you?"

"That's...sweet."

"Really? I was going for shallow and selfish."

"That too. But you already admitted to all that. You'd never admit to sweet."

"Hey, that ring on your finger didn't get there on its own."

"Well...I don't know if I'd exactly call it sweet," she said. She leaned up against him reassuringly, seeing the momentary expression of uncertainty on his face. "But I'm happy about it none the less."

Though he didn't say anything in reply, the look in his eyes said that he was too.

"So..." he said after a moment's pause. "Whose parents are we telling first?" Cuddy let out a fantastic sigh.

"Your mother will be ecstatic," she said. "My mom...well I...I don't know. She'll be happy, sure, but...I just know she'll try to insert herself into the wedding plans. She'll have a fit if we don't plan outright to have a traditional Jewish ceremony."

"Little early to be planning, don't you think?" House asked.

"I'm not trying to plan. Believe me, I think we need to let the dust settle a bit first before we start deciding on flower arrangements. I'm just warning you what might be in store."

"I _know_ what might be in store," House said. "I know how to handle your mom. And trust me, she's not going to chase me away." He stared at her intently – so intently that it surprised her – and after a moment, she smiled at him.

"I certainly hope it would take more than her to scare you away," she quipped.

"Seriously, though," House said after a moment. "Who are we going to tell first?" Cuddy considered this for a moment, sighing introspectively.

"I'll call my mom tomorrow, I guess," she relented, stifling a yawn. Her eyelids drooped.

"You should go to bed," House said.

"I guess...will you stay?"

"'Course I will. I gave you a ring tonight, do you really think I'm going to skip out now?" She chuckled softly.

"Guess not," she said, hoisting herself up off of the couch. She smirked at him. "Don't wait too long, okay?"

"Oh, believe me, I won't."

* * *

><p>As it turned out, it was another hour or so before House felt inclined to go back to the bedroom. His mind was racing. He turned television back on and flipped through the channels with the sound all the way down until his eyes began to feel tired.<p>

He glanced at the clock; it was nearly one in the morning. Cuddy was likely asleep already. Just to be sure, he shuffled down the hall and peeked into her bedroom. The room was dark, Cuddy's sleeping form just barely visible under the covers in the bed. But still, he didn't go to her. Instead, he went to the kitchen and picked up the phone.

It rang six times before she picked up. Honestly, he'd expected the voice mail, but instead she answered herself, tiredly questioning his identity. He must have woken her, he realized, and he felt a pang of guilt deep in his chest.

"Mom...it's Greg."

"Greg? It's late...Is something wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing, Mom, nothing," he assured her, sensing her uneasiness. Well, at least she was wide awake now. "I'm sorry for calling so late. I just...I really needed to tell you..."

"Tell me what?" she asked.

"Cuddy," he said. He paused, thinking over his words. "I gave her the ring. I asked her to marry me, and she said yes."

"Oh, Greg!" Blythe gasped. "Greg, that's wonderful...Wonderful!"

"Yeah...anyway, I'm sorry. I guess I just really wanted you to know."

"Of course, Greg. I'll admit, when I gave you that ring, I did...hope for this. I didn't want to pressure you, I mean, and I would have been perfectly okay with it if you hadn't ended up deciding to take this step, but...Greg, I'm so _proud_ of you!"

"Thanks, Mom," he said, beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable with all of her praise. What did that say about him, that he could be made to feel so uneasy from mere compliments?

"And you know..." Blythe continued, "for what it's worth, if he was here, your father would have been proud too." He let out a soft laugh, tinged with bitterness. "I mean it. And he was when he was alive too. Proud of you, I mean. Maybe he wasn't the best at showing it, but...Greg, I don't want you to doubt that."

"Alright, Mom." His voice had a harsh edge to it that he hadn't meant to add, and he regretted using that tone with his own mother as soon as the words left his mouth. She didn't, however, seem too fazed by it.

"Well...Greg, this is fantastic news," she said, changing the subject to avoid making him any more uncomfortable. "Do you know when you're going to have the ceremony?"

"Don't have a date yet," he told her, scratching his temple. "I mean, it's still pretty early. I just asked her tonight. And I'll be honest, it wasn't much of a proposal."

"I'm sure it was fine. And either way, she said yes in the end. That's what counts."

"I guess so, yeah." He mused over her words, wanting to believe that she was right. If he tried hard enough, he could just barely find the strength to agree.

"Well, Greg, you be sure and tell me when you know more, alright? And I'm letting you know now, I want a formal invitation in the mail. Not just an email or a voice message. Even if you have to make one just for me, you hear me, young man?"

He smiled to himself. "I hear you."

"Oh, and that reminds me, I'm going to have to give you my new address."

"New address?"

"I'm moving. At the end of the week, actually."

"Really?"

"Oh, it's not far. Just a few minutes away, a lovely little place. It was time for a change, Greg. I'll be honest, I can't stay in this house any longer. I'll be alright. It's just...it's time." He held the receiver away from his mouth and let out a sigh.

"Do you...need me to..."

"Now don't you dare worry yourself. Pamela across the street has two boys home from college who offered to help. I'll let you know when I'm settled in and you and your _fiancee_-" She emphasized the word, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "...can come for another visit. But for now, just focus on yourself. And Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"Focus on her." He did straighten up at that. "You understand? You treat that woman like she's the most important thing in the world to you."

"I will, Mom," he said.

"You promise?"

He paused a moment, hearing the intensity in her voice. There was silence on her end as she waited for him to reply.

"I promise," he said.

"Good. That's what I expect from my only son. I'll let you go now, Greg. Get some sleep."

"Alright, Mom."

"Goodnight, Greg."

"'Night."

He hung up the phone and got up from the kitchen table, putting the telephone back in its cradle on the wall. He let out a breath, leaning his weight against the kitchen counter.

"Well that's one down?"

He looked up at the sound of her voice. She looked tired, like he'd woken her. But she did not seem angry with him.

"You really couldn't wait until morning?" House shrugged.

"Couldn't sleep," he said.

"I hope for her sake, you don't call your mother every time you have insomnia." She stepped toward him. The ring on her finger glinted in the light. It seemed she hadn't taken it off even to sleep. That fact, surprisingly enough, made pride swell in his chest. The feeling caught him off guard, to say the least.

"Usually just drink myself into a stupor," he said jokingly. He saw a spark of sadness flash across her eyes at his words. Cautiously, it seemed, she put a hand on his arm.

"Will you come to bed now?" she asked.

His mother's words echoed in the back of his mind as he looked down at her, and slowly, he ran the tips of his fingers up her arm to her shoulder, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. When he pulled back, she smiled in surprise.

"What are you...thinking?"

"A lot of things," he said with a smirk.

"I thought so." She caught her lip between her teeth and took hold of his sleeve, pulling him down the hall.

* * *

><p>Wilson found him in the clinic, which didn't surprise him in the least, and what surprised him even less was the fact that House was sprawled out on an exam bed in a dark room, snoring loud enough to wake the corpses in the morgue. Wilson closed the door behind him and walked over to his sleeping friend, roughly nudging his shoulder and waking him with a dissatisfied grunt.<p>

"You know, if they gave out medical licenses for sleeping, you'd have five by now."

"Oh, come on, Wilson," House chastised. "I'd have at least seven." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching his back. "Didn't sleep much last night, if you know what I mean." He winked suggestively, and Wilson rolled his eyes with a grimace. But then he smiled.

"So she changed her mind, then?" he asked. "She said yes? After everything that happened?" He let out a surprised breath. "What did you say to her?"

"Told her the truth," said House, grabbing his cane and twirling it between his palms.

"You?" Wilson asked, eyebrows raised.

"Why does that sort of thing always surprise people?"

"House, look...It's great. It's amazing." He smiled. "You set a date yet?"

"We didn't exactly come home and start planning the wedding right then and there, Wilson. I know you're on the edge of your seat with anticipation, but you're gonna have to hold out a little longer."

Wilson sat down on the bed next to him, and House rolled his eyes extravagantly.

"Oh god, you've got your 'emotional heart-to-heart' face on," he sighed.

"I was right," Wilson said.

"Gold star for you."

"I told you she would say yes."

"Oh please, you could hardly believe me when I told you she'd agreed."

"After what happened at that benefit? Of course I was! Anyone would have been. I mean, she stormed out on you when you asked her."

"I know. I was there."

"Just saying, you can't expect it not to be a little surprising when you say she changed her mind after that. I mean, come on, House. She's almost as stubborn as you are."

"Hey, that's my future wife you're talking about."

"Oh please, it's one of the reasons you two work so well together. You're the jackass to her ice queen. Two forces that cancel each other out. Or at least make them semi-stable. But whatever...I'm happy for you."

"You're just jealous because it's not your wedding this time." Wilson allowed himself a small chuckle.

"So you're really doing this?" he asked. "You're really getting married. _You?_"

"You trying to talk me out of it?"

"No. God no. House I told you, I'm happy for you. I just...forgive me for being surprised that you of all people would want this."

"I want you to be my best man."

That threw Wilson for a loop. His eyebrows arched even higher.

"Seriously?" he asked. "You haven't even started planning yet, and you're already thinking about this?"

"Oh please, who else is gonna do it?" House scoffed. "Who did you think I was gonna ask, Chase? Cause last time I checked, to be a best man, you had to be...you know, a _man._"

"I'm honored, House." House shrugged.

"All you have to do is stand there and look good in a tux. And that last point is debatable, anyway."

"Really, House. That's...thank you." Seeing the look of sincere gratitude in his friend's eyes, House rolled his.

"You're not gonna try and kiss me, are you? Because I'm taken." Wilson stood up wordlessly.

"Close the door on your way out," House called as Wilson headed out of the clinic room with a smile on his face. Wilson waved back at him. "And you better get me a kick-ass wedding gift!"

* * *

><p>As Cuddy tapped her manicured fingernails against the phone in her office she began to think that she understood what House must have been feeling the previous night when he'd called his mother in the wee hours of the morning to tell her about their engagement. The news bubbled up inside her; she was itching to let it out, but at the same time, she was held back by anxiety. After all, Arlene Cuddy and Blythe House were two complete different people, and she doubted very much that her conversation with her own mother would be as smooth as House's conversation with his seemed to have been, based on what she had heard.<p>

But it had to be done. She had to tell her mother. She couldn't exactly get married without letting her own mom what was going on. And despite the fact that Cuddy knew Arlene would find something to lecture her on, the sooner she did it the better. The longer she waited to tell her mother the news, the more unpleasant the conversation was bound to be.

With a loud sigh, she picked up the phone and dialed. It rang only once before she heard a click and a familiar voice on the other end.

"You're calling from work," she observed. "You never call from work."

"Well...not never," Cuddy offered.

"I'm assuming you didn't just call to chat."

"No, actually...I, uh...I have to tell you something. About me and House."

"Are you pregnant, Lisa?" Cuddy balked.

"What? No!"

"Alright then, what is it?"

"It's...well, it's something that happened last night, actually. House...he..."

She surprised herself by smiling. And Arlene surprised her by staying silent on the other end.

"He asked me to marry him."

The long pause that followed might have been unsettling if Cuddy had let it. But it was only to be expected, so Cuddy forced herself to remain unfazed.

"And you said yes?" Arlene finally asked.

"I did," Cuddy replied after a moment's silence.

"Well...mazel tov. And here I thought that man had all but made the very mention of marriage a taboo."

"Things change," Cuddy said lamely.

"I'm sure they do. And I'm assuming you're planning on having a traditional Jewish ceremony?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes. She had known this would probably come up. After all, she couldn't begin to imagine the fit her mother would have if she even thought about having anything _other_ than a traditional Jewish wedding. Still, it wasn't something that was at the forefront of her mind at the moment, so she chose to sidestep the question instead.

"We haven't gotten that far yet, Mom. He just asked me last night."

"Doesn't every woman start planning her wedding from the day she turns thirteen?"

"Maybe some do, but right now I'm still getting used to the feeling of this ring on my finger."

Arlene paused again.

"So you really are getting married, Lisa..." she mused, sounding as if she couldn't quite believe it herself. But under that was a sense of pride, and Cuddy could hear it even over the phone. It was not something she was used to hearing coming from her mother, if she was perfectly honest with herself.

"I am, Mom."

"And you're sure you're not pregnant?"

"I'm not pregnant," she said, though she hid the sadness that tinged her voice well so that her mother could not hear it. It wasn't that she desperately wanted to _be_ pregnant, but this conversation was dredging up recent memories that she honestly would have preferred stay buried. And the last thing she wanted was for her mother to pick up on the pained undertones in her voice and end up finding out about what had happened.

"Well, alright..." Arlene relented. "I'll let you know when I can come-"

"What?" Cuddy asked, unable to cover up the tiny edge of terror that leaked through in her tone. "Mom, you don't have to come here."

"Well I don't mean _tomorrow_, Lisa. But you're going to need help planning the wedding, and the sooner you start the better. And I'm assuming you're not hoping for too long of an engagement."

"I told you already, I haven't given it much thought. Mom, really, I promise I'll tell you when I know more, when I know about when the wedding will be and all that, but now I don't have anything more to tell you. If I need help making plans, I'll call you."

But she knew that was a lie. Arlene Cuddy was the last person she would go to for advice about planning her wedding.

"Well what did you expect, Lisa?" Arlene asked with a sigh. "Did you think I would just let myself sit by and not offer my help?"

"I thought you'd be...I don't know, happy for me?"

"I _am_ happy for you. I just want to make sure you're...well that you're certain-"

"I am."

"-that you're certain this he's the right man for this...Lisa, it didn't seem to me that he was the marrying type. He made that perfectly clear."

"Did you already forget already that you were the one who was pressing the issue when you visited over Thanksgiving?"

"When I asked that, I wanted to know what his intentions were. And believe me, I'm happy that they turned out to be good ones. Marriage is a big step, Lisa. I'm happy for you, I swear, and I'm not trying to talk you out of it. I just want to make sure that you really feel this is right for you."

After a pause, her mother continued: "I would be asking this question if you were engaged to anyone else, you know."

Cuddy was sure of that. After all, her mother would never be completely satisfied with anything she did, she thought. She could have gotten engaged to royalty, and Arlene would still be asking her if their children were going to be raised Jewish.

Although...under all that bitterness that Cuddy habitually felt whenever she had any sort of conversation with her mother, she could sense that Arlene was being...sincere. After all, despite the sarcasm and the overbearing tendencies, the woman _was_ her mother. There was love there, even if it was an odd, somewhat twisted sort of love. She couldn't pretend there wasn't.

"I know..." Cuddy said. "Listen, I've got to go. I'll call again soon."

"Lisa-"

Cuddy felt an annoyed outburst threatening to rise up out of her, and she suppressed it, instead just pausing and silently waiting for her mother to continue.

Arlene's voice was surprisingly warm, and if Cuddy didn't know better, she could have sworn she heard the woman smile when she said, "Congratulations."

"Thank you..." Cuddy said softly. Arlene hummed appreciatively and hung up the phone.

With a sigh, Cuddy put down the phone and sat in silence for several moments, letting the conversation sink in. Whether it had gone better or worse than she had expected, she couldn't say, because honestly, she wasn't sure what she had expected in the first place. But either way, the conversation was over, and for now, she could at least be sure that her mother would give her some space to process.

Finally, even if it was just for a short time, she knew, she could let herself relax.


	27. Tradition

**Kay so I had serious woes with this chapter. Don't ask me why. I don't even know. Suffice to say, I started writing it three weeks ago and just now finished it through sheer force of will. *le sigh***

**Anyway, I'm working on this along with a piece I'm writing for an LJ auction, but I'll try to stay on top of updates more. I don't like making you guys wait (especially when this chapter is...well...kind of static to be honest...maybe I'm not supposed to say that? But it's kinda true). **

**The next chapter will be more exciting. I promise. I looked at my master outline thinking maybe we were nearing the end, and...nope. XD**

**********Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White.**********

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Tradition<strong>**

_We have a problem._

The words immediately made Cuddy's stomach knot up as they stared up at her from the glowing screen of her cell phone. She stopped dead in the doorway of her office, jacket half-hanging off of one shoulder, and she started to text him back when the need to find out just what had happened, just what was going on became too much, and she dialed his number instead, holding the phone up to her ear and hearing it ring on the other end just once before he picked up.

"What's going on?" she asked urgently before he'd managed to utter even the most curt of greetings.

"There's a woman on my doorstep." Cuddy quirked an eyebrow at that, confusion fogging her brain.

"What do you mean?" Was he talking about...a hooker? Had he had some kind of lapse in self control and called a prostitute? But why would he? And why would he call her if he had. "Are you at your apartment?"

Ever since coming out of rehab, he'd barely set foot in his own apartment other than to get fresh clothes. The memories attached to the place were not all pleasant ones, and he'd spent maybe three or four nights in the place over the past several weeks, hardly any time at all, especially after their engagement. For all intents and purposes, they had moved in together; the only thing missing was the paperwork.

"They disconnected my cable," he said. That was hardly a surprise. Why pay for cable somewhere he no longer lived. Cuddy began to think that they would need to breach the subject of his moving out officially before too long; paying rent on an apartment he spent little to no time in made almost less sense than paying for cable there.

"House, who's there?" she asked insistently, trying to get him to stop deflecting.

"You probably know her," he said, and his voice was accompanied by an irritated knocking. Whoever this was at House's door, he presumably had not let them in yet. She wondered if he was planning to do so at all. She supposed that it would have to depend on who it was, and she was keen on finding that out.

There was a voice on the other end, one that did not belong to House, muffled and barely audible. She couldn't work out what the person was saying, but it sounded a lot like...

Oh...

No, it couldn't be.

"House," she said urgently. "Who's there?"

"I'll call you back."

"_House-_"

Click.

Cuddy blinked in surprise, scoffing angrily at the fact that House had just _hung up on her._ But her anger was replaced quickly by a worried curiosity.

It was almost seven-thirty. She could have gone home some time ago, but the work piling up on her desk had dictated otherwise. Such was the life of the Dean of Medicine. But now her fears began to outweigh the tasks that demanded her attention. She pursed her lips; her anxiety could easily be unfounded, she reminded herself. What were the chances that she was right? A million to one? In any case, they were slim. But even if it was even just a possibility...

With a harsh sigh, she stood and grabbed her coat.

* * *

><p>When he opened the door she was staring at him with a cold gleam in her eye.<p>

"Certainly took you long enough," she said.

"To answer the door or propose to your daughter?" he asked, not a beat lost between them. Arlene pursed her lips.

"Are you going to let me in?"

"Maybe...debating it." She sighed, supressing a glare. Weird, he thought; he didn't think he'd ever seen Arlene Cuddy suppress anything.

"I just want to talk..."

"Exactly. That's why I'm debating it."

"I didn't come all the way here to watch you stand in your doorway and pretend to be clever, Greg." The sound of his name on her lips was sour and made him inwardly wince.

"Why _did_ you come, then? Are you here to try and chase me away? Or were you wondering if your daughter is already pregnant?" Again, Arlene pressed her lips into a hard line, huffing indignantly. "She's not, just to get that out of the way."

Finally, it seemed she had had enough, because she tossed aside formalities and pushed her way past House into his apartment. He did not try and stop her, instead closing the door unceremoniously behind her and turning to face the woman who was currently surveying his living room a look of distaste on her features, as if she'd just eaten something unpleasant, but was trying to tone down her displeasure so as not to offend her host.

"I thought you would have moved out of here by now. Lisa tells me she's not pushing you to...says she wants to respect your space." She scoffed, seemingly finding the notion ridiculous. "If you can't bring yourself to move in with her, what makes you think you can marry her?"

"What makes you think I'm not planning to move in?" he asked, shrugging. "Maybe I'm just taking it slow."

"Proposing doesn't seem like it fits on the slow path."

"Why are you here, Arlene?" House repeated. "And I don't mean here in Princeton. I mean here at my apartment, now. You know where to find Cuddy if you wanted to talk to her, but you came to me instead. Why?" Arlene paused, took a breath, and stepped toward him.

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "I am Lisa's mother, Greg. Don't get me wrong, I'm overjoyed by the fact that you've made your intentions clear now, but certainly you can understand why I have some...doubts about the whole thing. Especially after you made a point of telling me over Thanksgiving dinner that you never intended to marry Lisa."

"People change," House said. Arlene shook her head adamantly.

"So Lisa told me, but I know you don't believe that, and don't you think for one second that you're going to get away with such a straightforward answer. She may be a grown woman, and she can make her own decisions, but I am still Lisa's mother, and I will always be her mother. And if you hurt her-"

"I won't," House insisted, and the certainty in his own words surprised even him. It seemed to surprise Arlene plenty too, judging by the look on her face. But he was telling the truth.

"Well..." Arlene continued moments later, trying to regain her footing in the conversation. "Forgive me for being overprotective of my daughter. I do have a few questions regarding the ceremony itself-"

"Oh, again with all these questions about logistics..." House griped, rolling his eyes enthusiastically. "We've barely even talked about it ourselves."

"Well you're going to need to before too long, you know," Arlene said.

"So you came here to tell me to get my ass out of my apartment and hurry up and marry your daughter. Got it. Message received. Feel free to go now." He gestured toward the door.

"I'm not going until we clear things up," Arlene insisted. "I'll have a face-to-face conversation with my daughter soon enough, but first I have some things to say to you. I don't like you, you know."

"Gee...that's good to know," House said with mock enthusiasm. "Here I thought you were my number one fan."

"Let me finish. I don't like you, but Lisa does. She loves you. And in some way, I think you're...good for you. God knows I don't understand why, but...I think it's true. Which is why if you ever do anything to hurt her-"

"I-"

"I know you say you would never, but it's easy to say that. It's easy to believe it. But following through is something else entirely. And I'm not saying you _can't_, but it will be hard. I want to know with certainty that you can make good on that claim. Because I can promise you this, Greg. I don't care if you don't like me. Hell, I don't care if you think I'm a bad mother, but you can be damn sure that if you ever do anything to hurt my Lisa, you'll wish you hadn't."

"Are you threatening me," he asked, only half-jokingly. Arlene never once lessened the intesity of her gaze.

"You're damn right I am, and if you ever have children of your own, you'll understand why." And then it was gone, that flame that had blazed behind her eyes as she had spoken to him, and she looked away with a sigh. "Of course that's another conversation entirely."

"So you came here to tell me that if I ever hurt her, you'll slash my tires," House clarified.

"Well I would never do anything so violent, Greg, but I suppose if you want to word it that way..."

The sound of a car pulling up to the curb outside drew their attention away from each other, and both of them looked up, glancing out the window. "Oh," House said with eyebrows arched, "What do you know?"

"Well it does save me a trip to her house, I suppose," Arlene sighed, suddenly sounding tired.

House's shoulders slumped. In all honesty, he wasn't exactly keen on the idea of dealing with both Lisa Cuddy and her mother simultaneously. Still, it seemed like he would have to do just that.

Cuddy didn't bother knocking before coming in. The door was unlocked, and she practically threw it open, freezing in place when she saw her own mother staring at her from House's side.

"Mom..." she breathed. "What are you doing here?" Arlene pursed her lips, offering an absolutely horrible impression of a smile.

"After what you told me, how could I not come to see you?" Cuddy scoffed.

"Come to see me?" she asked. "You came straight to House's apartment. What was that about?"

"Just what I was thinking-" House said.

"House, stay out of this," Cuddy barked. Her outburst surprised him, but she didn't seem to want to focus any of her energy on him right now. Granted, he doubted she wanted to focus her energy on her mother either, but she had to, and she seemed hell-bent on dealing with things one at a time. Strange, he thought, she was usually the master of multitasking, but it obviously wasn't a title she wanted to exercise right at this moment.

Granted, with a woman like Arlene, it was probably best not to try and divide up one's powers of concentration. Cuddy's mother – his future mother-in-law, he realized with a slight shiver – was not someone who was easy to deal with unless one was completely focused. In fact, she was never easy to deal with, period.

"Lisa, is that any way to treat your future husband?" Arlene quipped. Cuddy's glare spoke volumes.

"Mom, what are you thinking? What could you possibly have to say to me, to _him_ that you couldn't say over the phone?"

"I happen to believe whole-heartedly that face-to-face conversation is one of the most important aspects of any relationship." She shot a look back at House at that. "Particularly the relationship between family members. Or maybe you've forgotten that..." Cuddy slammed the door closed behind her, looking genuinely furious now, and she stalked toward her mother. House wondered if an all-out mother-daughter brawl was about to break out in the middle of his apartment.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You, Lisa. All this time insisting that you don't want marriage, that you don't need it, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, I get a call announcing that you two are engaged. And he didn't even ask for permission-"

"He didn't need to," Cuddy insisted before House could respond.

"According to you, maybe-"

"_Yes,_ according to me. This doesn't involve you, Mom. It's between us."

"It's between _our families._ And last time I checked, I was part of yours. Or am I wrong?" Now Cuddy's anger faded, so quickly it was almost frightening, and she just looked hurt.

"Of course you are," she croaked. She looked over at House, as if expecting him to say something, but he was enthralled by what was taking place in front of him. Two women, stubborn, powerful, intelligent and batshit insane when it suited them, vying for power like this? It was like watching Animal Planet.

Arlene finally spoke again, her usual, somewhat snobbish tone restored: "I was trying to talk to Greg here about your plans for the ceremony-" Cuddy let out an extravagant sigh.

"Mom, I told you over the phone. We haven't gotten that far yet. And again, that's between House and me."

"Well I am your mother and I raised you a certain way, Lisa. I'm not asking him to convert, since I know that would likely be a stretch." Again, she looked back at House. He fought the urge to laugh. A stretch? That was one way to describe it. The day he converted to Judaism to placate Arlene Cuddy would be the day the sky fell.

"Mom..." Cuddy sighed, covering her eyes with one hand exhaustedly. "We can sit down and talk about this...later. When House and I have had to time to make that decision for ourselves. Until then, I don't want you bringing it up every five minutes." Arlene pressed her lips together and took a breath.

"Alright," she agreed, and House saw Cuddy's shoulders relax in relief. "I'm not dropping this."

"I didn't expect you to," Cuddy said. Arlene made her way toward the door.

"I'm staying at a hotel not too far from here."

"Mom, how long were you planning on staying?" There was a slight edge of panic in Cuddy's voice as she spoke, one that she hid well, although House picked up on it.

"Well I was planning on staying a few days to help you start planning, Lisa, but if you haven't gotten to that stage yet, there's not much point in me hanging around, is there?"

"Damn right, there isn't," House mumbled, mainly to himself. Cuddy shot him a glare, but he knew that, had Arlene not been within earshot, she would have agreed with him.

If she'd heard him, Arlene didn't acknowledge him.

"I hate to think I've wasted a trip," she said.

"Maybe next time you should tell us you're planning on coming," Cuddy offered somewhat bitterly. "That way we can make sure you don't."

"I'll be in town until tomorrow if you decide you want to talk." Finally, after what felt like far too long a time to be wasting energy putting up with her, Arlene turned and left. Dammit. She'd gotten the last word after all. That fact shouldn't have been so frustrating, but it was, even to House, who'd barely been a part of the conversation since Cuddy had arrived. He could only imagine how much that put Cuddy off.

Cuddy deflated almost the exact moment the door closed. It was as if she was some territorial animal that had been hoisting itself up to make itself appear larger to an intruder, and now that the threat was gone (for now) she could relax. But it was not relaxation House saw on her features. It was exhaustion, which was hardly surprising, considering what she'd just had to deal with.

In _his_ apartment, no less.

She pressed her palm to her forehead.

"A man can't even feel safe in his own apartment these days," House said.

"Why didn't you tell me she was here?"

"I said we had a problem."

"With you, that could be any number of things," Cuddy said. "You could have told me and saved me a trip here."

"What, you would have just left me to defend against your mother all on my own?" House asked, feigning hurt.

"I could have talked to her on the phone instead, you know," she pointed out. "And besides, if she's going to be your mother in law before too long, you're going to need to figure out how to deal with her without me."

"Like I haven't before? I never asked you to come over, you know."

"House, what did you expect me to do?" House could feel it boiling just beneath the surface; a fight was threatening to erupt between them. Just what they needed after dealing with Cuddy's dragon of a mother.

"Calm down, maybe?" he said. It was the wrong thing to say, and he realized that just a moment too late.

Cuddy's face contorted into a mask of irritation. "Don't tell me to calm down, House," she snapped.

"Look, all she came here to do was try and brow-beat me into having some sort of idiotic, over-the-top traditional ceremony. She wasn't trying to break us up or anything."

"Idiotic?" Cuddy repeated in what sounded like a mixture of disbelief and...hurt? "That's really what you think of it? Of having a traditional ceremony?"

"Don't you?" House ventured. Wrong move again.

"No!"

"Are you telling me you actually think she's right? That you actually do want to go the traditional route?"

"Not necessarily. Like I've said over and over again, we haven't gotten that far yet, but I thought you'd at least be willing to have the idea on the table. I thought you'd at least want to try and respect my beliefs and traditions even if you don't agree with them. But all you can say about it is that you think they're idiotic?"

"Why are you taking this so hard? It's not a surprise that I think religion is a load of crap. You've known that about me for years-"

"I know you don't believe in religion, House, but this is different. This is-"

"How is it different? You want me to respect your beliefs? How about respecting mine? I don't want a Jewish ceremony. I never did. I don't even think you do. The only reason you're even reacting like this is because your mother put the idea in your head. In what universe could you ever see me having a traditional Jewish wedding ceremony?"

"Maybe in the universe where you asked me to marry you," Cuddy said. They slipped into silence. She sighed. "Let's not talk about this now..." she said. "I'm tired...I'm angry...I don't want to fight over this." She turned to leave, but House grabbed her wrist.

"Hey," he called softly, tactfully. She paused. He waited, wanting her to look at him. When she finally did, he spoke again: "It's not about the ceremony. We don't need any pomp and circumstance, and we certainly don't need to go through the motions of me stepping on a glass and being hoisted up on a chair. I just..." He stopped. _I just want to marry you,_ he wanted to say, but it sounded so sappy and so overdone that he just couldn't bring himself to say it aloud.

"Of course it's not _about _the ceremony," Cuddy relented. "I just...it's part of my life. It's part of me. And if we're going to be together, I want to know you can accept that."

"I think it's stupid," he said. Cuddy's eyebrows furrowed in hurt and annoyance. She tried to pull away again, but House held her fast. "Hey. I think it's stupid. _But_ it doesn't make me love you any less."

Sappy and overdone, he thought. But at least he'd been able to get the words out. Cuddy considered them.

"I don't want you to think my traditions are stupid, House," she said sadly.

He looked away, glancing down at the floorboards.

"Look..." he said. "If you really want to consider this...fine. Consider it. Later. But don't let yourself get carried away about it just because of what your mother said. It's our wedding. Not hers." She regarded him intently for a few moments, and carefully, as if unsure of whether or not she would run away the moment he did so, he let go of her arm.

"Alright," she relented. "Alright..."


	28. Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be Alright

**Holy sweet jesus this story is actually alive. I'm sorry, guys; I was dealing with family crap and then school happened and the whole time my House muse was in critical condition...ugh...I feel like a low-life for making you wait this long. But my muse is in recovery at the moment and seems to be cooperating so you get this. :P**

**I'll admit right now that I've been having timeline issues with this story; I didn't keep track of it as well as I should have been so as much as I've been trying my hardest to avoid continuity issues, they might be a thing, though they should be minimal. I have the timeline for the remainder of the story (all seventeen chapters, not including this one) written down and double-checked, nice and smoothed over, so from this point on, we should be good. For reference, this chapter takes place in mid-April. **

**And that's all I have to say about that? Now let's get on with it.**

****Disclaimer: **I don't own House or any of its characters. The title of this story comes from the novel of the same name by E.B. White. ******

* * *

><p><strong>Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be Alright<strong>

"I suppose congratulations are in order."

House scratched at his chin, glancing up at Marilyn for just half a moment before his gaze turned to the potted plant in the corner. He drummed out an erratic beat on the arms of his chair.

"I suppose," he said, haughtily imitating her speech pattern. She laced her fingers together on front of her on her desk.

"Something bothering you?"

"My stocks are down, my blood pressure's up and marijuana is still illegal. So yeah, generally." Marilyn let out a ghost of a laugh.

"I was thinking something more along the lines of...marriage?"

"Are you really bringing this up again?"

"Well it's a big step in your life and in your relationship."

"Yup."

"Some might think it's rather intimidating."

"Some might."

"Alright, I'll be blunt then. Greg, how are you feeling about your engagement?"

"She did say yes, remember? And she hasn't cut it short yet. Which honestly leads me to question her sanity to a certain degree." His therapist squinted her eyes thoughtfully.

"You don't think she should want this?"

"You've been my therapist for almost three months now. Do you know _anything_ about me?"

"Exactly. Three months now, Greg. Assuming all goes according to plan, I won't be your therapist for much longer. Of course, it's still up to me to decide if you're ready to stop these sessions, but the fact remains the same: you're going to have to learn how to get on without me."

"I think I'll be fine," House said breezily. Marilyn smiled.

"You need to talk to people, Greg. To me, to your soon-to-be-wife...So talk to me now. Tell me how you're feeling. Or we can start at an easier level if you like. What are you thinking about in terms of the ceremony?" House didn't bother to be subtle about the roll of his eyes.

"I'm starting to wonder how many times I'll have to tell people to quit asking that." Marilyn quirked one eyebrow. "We haven't started planning anything yet."

"Well then I understand why the question might be somewhat irksome. But are you sure that's the only reason you're avoiding it?"

"I'm not avoiding it. The question is just irrelevant."

"It's actually quite telling, Greg. When someone asks you these questions...how does it make you feel? Anxious? Excited? Worried?"

"Annoyed," House emphasized. "It doesn't stem from some deep-seated fear of commitment. I just don't know yet."

"You don't know...that's interesting..."

"How the hell is it interesting?"

"Watch your language, Greg," Marilyn chastised. "It's interesting to hear you say that. Normally, you seem quite reluctant to say you don't know. You see? I can tell you a thing or two about yourself, Greg." She smiled knowingly, something that House found she seemed to do with astoundingly annoying frequency.

"Well if you know so much about me, then why don't you tell _me_ the significance?" he said.

"I don't know," Marilyn drawled comfortably. "I notice. And besides, that would defeat the point."

House watched her intently, tossing his cane from one hand to the other and back again as he waited for her to speak again, but she didn't. She stared right back at him, hands clasped in front of her, biding her time until he was ready to answer her questions and tell her whatever it was she wanted to know – or whatever she claimed to know already. He sighed magnificently and rubbed his eyes.

"I don't know...what I feel," he ground out, looking anywhere but her. The window suddenly became very fascinating. "I don't care about the ceremony. We can just go sign a damn piece of paper for all I care. We don't have to make a big deal out of it, but of course Cuddy's fire-breathing dragon-lady of a mother wants to insist on going the traditional route or she'll spontaneously combust and take both of us with her. But why should a damn ceremony matter?"

"So it's her mother that's worrying you?" Marilyn prompted. "She must be quite the specimen of a woman."

"That's one way to describe her," House grunted. "But in the end, she doesn't even matter. She can yell and scream all she wants, but she can't make us do anything. Not really."

"So if she's not what's bothering you, then what is?"

"I don't know!" House snapped, slamming his fist down on the arm of the chair. "I don't know! I don't know anything! I don't know how this is going to turn out, what's going to happen a year from now, or five years or ten...I don't know-"

"And that scares you."

He stared, silent and pumped full of adrenaline. His heart slowed from a full gallop to an easy trot and he let out a breath.

"I..." He couldn't say he didn't know again. The words tasted bitter and sharp in his mouth, cutting his tongue every time he repeated them. He couldn't bring himself to say them even one more time. He was sick of them, sick of not knowing, sick of the uncertainty and the mystery of the constantly looming future.

"I'm not a relationship counselor," Marilyn said gently as she leaned forward, toward him. "But I do know something about you, Greg. I can tell, for one, that you're a man of action, that you're never satisfied unless you're mind is working on something. Consider this: if you sit on your hands and put this off, your brain will be constantly overrun with 'what-ifs' and the like. However..."

"If I do something productive I can channel that into something actually helpful," House finished. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Pretty sure that's something you're trained to say in grad school."

"They teach it for a reason, you know."

"You're saying I should get into wedding planning?"

"Only your own. Though you never know, you might find it enjoyable." House scoffed.

"Doubt this will end in a career change."

"But you know how it will end, granted all goes according to plan?"

"How?"

Marilyn smiled. "With you getting married."

* * *

><p>Cuddy came home to someone flipping her lights on and off. She squinted through her windshield as she slowed to a stop in the driveway, mumbling an almost consciously unnoticed "What the hell?" under her breath as she got out of the car. Off again, on again, off again, on again, with startlingly precise timing. Not a power flicker, then, and not a loose bulb. Her nerves chattered away with vague anxiety as she unlocked the door and went inside, even though she knew with almost absolute certainty already who it was.<p>

He was sitting on her couch, arm outstretched with his finger on the light switch. On again, off again. "What are you doing?" she asked. He didn't look up at her, but he did stop messing with the lights, though his hand hovered by the switch still.

"Was wondering when you were going to get home," he said, flicking the light on one last time and leaving it that way, his arm falling with a dull thump into the side of the couch. "Thought you were gonna spend the night at the hospital, and that wasn't going to be much fun for either of us."

As he spoke, he stood up and shuffled over to her, cane left resting against the sofal. He didn't say much as he placed his hands on her arms, running them up and down, curving over her shoulder. He didn't quite make eye contact right then, staring at her neck instead. "You know, out of all the fights we've had, this is probably the stupidest." Now he looked at her, one eyebrow cocked. "And that's saying something."

"What are you talking about?"

"All this stupid wedding stuff," he said, removing his hands from her. "Letting your mother get us all worked up over something that shouldn't matter in the long run. It's like we haven't even been a couple the past few weeks. You've been avoiding me."

"I haven't-"

"Hey, I've been avoiding you too. Not trying to accuse you of anything. Arlene has a way of getting in your head, and once she's in there, she tends to flip over all the tables and tear up the wallpaper." He sighed heavily, his shoulders rounding. Suddenly he looked so tired. "But anyway...maybe she...And I can't believe I'm about to say this. Maybe she has a point."

"What?" Cuddy breathed.

"Don't make me say it again," House pleaded.

"No, believe me, if I ever heard you repeat that, my head might just explode from disbelief, but...what are you talking about?" He took her hands in his, a gesture so tender that it surprised her even now, even as the metal of the engagement ring on her finger pressed against his palm.

"I mean, the result is the same no matter how we do it. And it's a few hours of my time at most. I mean, if it's something you'd regret passing up if we didn't do it, I guess I'd rather endure a traditional ceremony than endure you bringing it up as argument fodder somewhere down the road."

"So that's the only reason you want to do it?" she asked, sounding hurt even though she was trying so valiantly to keep that undertone out of her voice. "Because you're worried I'll bring it up to use against you later?"

"I think it's a valid reason," House quipped. Cuddy sighed and turned away. She barely had time to take more than a step before he grabbed her wrist. "Hey...I'm trying, alright? I'm trying to...I don't know, do the right thing."

It took her a moment to respond: "I know you are..." She summoned as much strength as she could find to force herself to turn and face him again, pressing her free hand to her forehead. "It's just...your timing is impeccable."

"It usually is," House said, suggestively raising an eyebrow at her. "Doubt we're thinking of the same thing though."

"I thought about it a lot," Cuddy finally said. "I thought about...what it would feel like to have a traditional ceremony, and when I thought about it, it just felt...wrong."

"Think you were born into the wrong religion?" House asked. "Because I here the Church of Scientology is still taking members."

"That's not what I meant. I mean, if it were anyone else, I would have wanted a traditional ceremony, but that's not you. That's not us. And you're right...it doesn't matter." She shrugged. "I mean, either way, we still end up married, right?"

"Pretty sure. So what are you getting at?"

"Kinda funny isn't it?" she said with a small smile. "That we both have such a change of heart and it leaves us right where we started. Seems pretty fitting when it comes to the two of us..."

"I'm still not following." She smacked him good-naturedly on the arm.

"I'm saying I don't want a traditional ceremony, you ass," she said.

"Your mother sure does."

"Yeah, but you're right. You're not marrying my mother." He grimaced. "I know..." Her expression softened, and it was her turn to take his hand, which she did gently. "I just want to marry you, House. And if somewhere down the line, I look back and wish I could have had some extravagant ceremony...Well, maybe I can just look at you lying next to me and remember that in the end, it didn't really matter." Before he could speak, she pressed forward onto her tip-toes and kissed him, clasping her hand around the back of his neck.

House pulled away, lingering inches from her still. "So we're in bed in this scenario of yours," he said. "Seems appropriate."

"Shut up," she said, unable to hide her smile.

"So you don't want to go the traditional route, or you're willing not to, anyway," House said. "What then?"

"I hear the Justice of the Peace is nice this time of year."

"That all you want?" House asked, brow furrowing in surprise. "Concrete walls and marble floors?"

"I'll wear a dress, you wear a tux. We'll invite some friends and family and enjoy the reception afterward with half the planning and hair-pulling."

"So that's it. That's the plan."

"If you're alright with it."

"Sounds like a good plan to me. Though the tux is debatable..."

"The tux is most certainly _not _debatable. You'll wear it and that's final." House grinned playfully.

"I get all tingly when you take control like that, Cuddy," he said. After a pause, he added, "Not sure how your mother will feel about it, though. The wedding, not the tux. Though she'll probably find something wrong with that too."

"Oh, she'll be beside herself, but that'll pass. Besides, I'm having a hard time caring."

"Wouldn't you know it, so am I."

"Do you think you'll still feel that way when one of us has to tell her?"

"Probably," he shrugged. "Considering I was planning on leaving that to you."

"How sweet..."

"I try." Cuddy paused, swaying thoughtfully.

"What made you change your mind?"she asked. "Really."

"I told you-"

"No, I know it's something more than you wanting to avoid an argument down the road. You don't just change your mind out of the blue." Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder, beseeching him to look at her, which he eventually did. "I just want to know..."

"Had a good talk with my therapist," he said. "They're good for that kind of thing. Plus, I'd rather just avoid a long argument about it and get it done already."

"That's one way to look at it, I guess," Cuddy said out of the corner of her mouth. "Get it over and done with."

"Well I'm going to need somewhere to live, right? And us being married would help us to avoid a scandal."

"Pretty sure we're a bit late when it comes to avoiding scandals," Cuddy reminded him before something occurred to her. "What do you mean you need somewhere to live?"

"I move out of my apartment at the end of the month," he said with a shrug. "I was going to surprise you with a couple of suitcases and a U-haul truck, but I figured that might be a little much." She stared at him in disbelief.

"Now I know you've lost it," she said.

"You want to kick me out?" he asked.

"No, but...House...I don't want you to feel...pressured or overwhelmed or-"

"Well last time I checked we're still engaged," he pointed out. "Makes sense that we would have to move in together at some point. Would certainly make it easier to tell people where to send the gifts. And unless you want to come live in my apartment, I figured this would be the best choice for all involved." He paused a moment, eying her warily. "You're not going to cry, are you?"

"Shut up," Cuddy said, smiling through the tears that were indeed gathering in her eyes.

"Didn't think you'd get so emotional over this."

"I'm not," she said. "I just...I'm happy. Aren't I allowed to be happy about this?"

"Sure you're allowed, but if you're going to start bawling all over the place I think I'll just leave until the flood of hormones has ebbed."

"No, it's fine...I'm fine. It's just so out of nowhere..."

"Had to happen eventually."

"I know, but...you saying this so suddenly, and now of all times..."

"What do you mean?" She paused, biting the inside of her cheek, and House's chest tightened in worry. His voice was more urgent as he added, "What does me saying it now have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," Cuddy relented, her breath rushing out of her under the word. "I mean...just when you're finishing up with your therapy, when my mother is...well, being my mother-"

"I swear to God if she shows up on my doorstep again, I don't want you to hold me responsible for what I might do. Who knows how long it will take to convince her to leave well enough alone this time..."

"I _will _hold you responsible," Cuddy said. "Especially considering that it's your future mother in law we're talking about here."

"Don't remind me."

"And I think you mean _our _doorstep," she added. House chuckled.

"Our doorstep. Have it your way."

* * *

><p>"You're ovulating."<p>

He was standing just inside her office doorway, a thoughtful quirk in his eyebrow and a poorly-hidden smirk tugging at his lips as he let the door slide closed behind him. He said nothing more, prompting the obligatory question from her:

"What?"

He took a confident step in her direction, cane scuffing against the carpet. "I said you're ovulating."

"I heard you, but...what?"

"I have a bet going with some of the gyno chicks to see which one of us is better at reading your cycle. I mean, I know I told you I'd stop tracking your periods, but come on...honestly, how long did you think that was going to last?" He chuckled. "And besides, I've gotten rusty lately, and if we're going to be living together, I need to know when to keep the freezer stocked with Rocky Road and when to sleep in the yard."

Cuddy let out a heavy sigh, allowing her arms to fall onto her keyboard and ignoring the lengthy chain of E's that the motion caused to pop up on her screen. "I'm not ovulating," she said.

"You sure?" House asked, striding toward her again. "Because I kind of have money riding on this, you know-"

"_House,_" she snapped, slamming her hands down on the desk. "Trust me when I say...I'm not...ovulating. I'm really..._really_ not."

Something in her eyes made him pause. He couldn't identify it, couldn't work out why his heart was suddenly starting to race as he asked, barely audible: "How do you know?"

"Because I..." She trailed off, her will power failing her.

It only made him repeat: "How do you know?"

She stood up slowly, rounding her desk as if she were trying to approach a skittish animal without scaring it, and her words were almost drowned out, it seemed, by the blood pounding in his ears: "When you came over last night, I thought..." She glanced down at the carpet. "But I wasn't sure...I took a test this morning...took another...and then another for good measure...and..."

Her hands wandered absently to her abdomen.

"You're..."

"Yeah."

For a moment, Cuddy just watched him cautiously. House stared at the bookshelf.

His heart leaped into his throat, leaving his stomach to bottom out and making him feel like he either wanted to run out of the room or throw up or both. But he did neither; he stood there, frozen, his mind trapped in a spiral of incoherent, half-formed thoughts.

"You're sure?" he asked, voice quavering as he finally glanced at her. She wrapped her arms around herself anxiously.

"About as sure as four tests can make a person," she said.

"Wow, that's...thorough..." He moved his gaze to the floor.

It seemed like an eternity passed before she finally asked, "Are you...okay?"

Surprising both himself and her, he nodded.

"Yeah..." This time, when he looked up at her, his gaze was so intense that his eyes seemed to pierce right through her. She shifted uncomfortably.

"I actually told you this time," she said, a humorless laugh issuing from her throat; it was tinged with pain and bitternessamidst the desire to lift the tension that hung in the air between them. "I mean I...I couldn't believe it, but...I guess there's something in my that just doesn't want to call it quits. I mean I thought we were being safe, but after...what happened...after everything, I guess I let my guard down a bit and..." Her throat and chest ached with the tears she was holding back.

She barely had time to get another syllable out before House pressed her against the wall, grabbing her arms and gripping tightly as he kissed her hard on the mouth, tongue pressing past her lips in a desperate frenzy that left her too stunned and breathless to respond. Slowly, his touch dissolved into one that was more gentle and warm, hands running down over her wrists and her fingers to rest on her hips. In spite of everything, and in spite of herself, when he pulled away, she was smiling, and she laughed.

"House, careful," she said semi-playfully. "I'm...I'm awash with hormones right now and they're making me...really...horny..." She bit her lip as House smirked.

"Yeah, it's _just_ the hormones doing that," he said.

"House..." she said warningly.

"Alright, alright..." He rested his forehead on her shoulder, thoughtfully mumbling: "You're really pregnant..."

Her voice shook: "Yup. And you're...alright..."

"Surprisingly...I think so."

It was a long time before Cuddy spoke again, repeating his name once more, softer this time: "House?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think..." She glanced downward; now it was her turn for her to avoid his gaze. "Do you think I'll be able...to..."

"Don't worry," he said with a surprising measure of confidence. "You will. My sperm are tough little buggers. I mean, let's be honest, if they can survive the harsh, unforgiving conditions of your vagina, I think that says something."

It was hard to force the words out, but she made herself say them none the less: "You know, if this...if this makes you want to...I don't know, put off the ceremony or something, I'd understand..."

"You kidding?" he scoffed. "You think I'd leave you at the altar for this? Give me a little credit, Cuddy. Besides, can you imagine the look on Arlene's face? She might just rupture something."

"And...did you want..." He looked at her questioningly when her voice petered out. "I mean it's your decision as much as it's mine. We could...talk about this. If you don't think we should...keep-"

"No." His tone was so forceful and insistent that it made her jump, and he softened it along with his gaze as he repeated, "No...never...no..."

She smiled, running her fingers through his hair, and suddenly, he began to kneel downwards. Her voice hitched as she choked out: "House, what are you-"

She fell silent when he pressed a tender kiss to her abdomen, barely able to hear him as he spoke: "You'll be fine."

But he didn't seem to be speaking to her.


End file.
